


Love in the Eye of a Storm

by rattlesoft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Slight horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattlesoft/pseuds/rattlesoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Narcissa Malfoy spends all of her time holed up in Malfoy Manor. Growing more and more dissatisfied, she takes a holiday to a mysterious island that promises no contact with the outside world. There, she encounters someone else in similar circumstances and a threat straight from her nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, though the island and the groundskeeper come from my imagination.

It had been easy for Narcissa Malfoy at first. So very, very easy. There were things to do, people to testify against mostly. That hadn't won her any friends on either side. Like anything else in life, it all came down to making lists. Except she wasn't planning the party of the season. Written on parchment were dates to appear at the Ministry, not dates for caterers to arrive. She kept little notes on how much and who to donate money to.

But then, things started slowing down. The trials couldn't go on forever, after all.

Lucius kept himself busy as much as he could. He hadn't gotten off completely for his actions in the war. It'd be some time before the Malfoy name was held in esteem again and Lucius certainly wouldn't be the reason why it would be. But he could try to make things a little better for them. That's what he said as they passed each other in the dark halls of Malfoy Manor.

And Draco? Narcissa's heart gave a leap whenever she thought of him. Finish his education, learn how to navigate this new post-war world. Distance himself from his family publicly. That was the plan. He'd thought of it himself. Narcissa, tongue heavy in her mouth, couldn't argue against it.

What had she and her generation done for their children? Brought about another war, that's what. No, she couldn't blame him one bit.

The papers ran columns for months about good being triumphant, the war stories of Potter and his friends, the embarrassing end of the Death Eaters. Rita Skeeter added, whenever she got the chance, that she'd always believed in Potter. They'd had a special connection ever since the Triwizard Tournament. That was the one piece that made Narcissa crack a smile. Rita would never change, had been like that even in her days at Hogwarts. She'd used Bellatrix's name, once, while at school, in an attempt to join some fourth years. In response, Bellatrix had held Rita at wandpoint and told her to never utter her name again.

There were a few reporters who, in sidenotes or right at the end of articles, mentioned Narcissa's so-called heroic change of heart right at the end. Narcissa assumed they were paid by the word and wanted to make as much as they could. Those mentions dried up quickly. Narcissa refused to give interviews and no one, especially those who fought with the Order, wanted to hear anything about it.

It hadn't been brave, in Narcissa's opinion, to lie. It was pure desperation. And anyone who knew her knew that it was done only for Draco, much like the Unbreakable Vow with Snape. That wasn't heroism. Not the kind the papers wanted to talk about. She didn't have the heart for that kind of bravery.

And so the magical world, regrouping and perhaps lighter than it had been, was much the same to Narcissa as it had been when Voldemort was at his strongest, except for the manor being silent and unused by the Death Eaters. She stopped reading the newspaper. She was tired of recycled news, the same accounts of what happened during the war worded slightly differently. She crept through the manor and kept to herself, waiting.

“Do you miss any of it?” she asked Lucius on a weak night. She was a bottle of wine in and aching for a fight.

“No,” Lucius said in the same tone of voice he used when speaking with Ministry officials.

That's where we are now, she thought. Her husband was as guarded around her as he was with the outside world. She couldn't decide if she loved or hated him for it.

Months later, when everything was the same and she'd read all the books she was interested in in the library, she suggested a change.

“Narcissa, what exactly do you think can be different now?” Lucius asked.

“Us,” she replied.

He shook his head and went back to his Daily Prophet.

Though Narcissa tried, it was impossible not to be aware of what was going on outside the walls of Malfoy Manor. Potter and his Weasley friend were working with the Aurors. In a rare letter from Draco, she learned that Professor McGonagall, who she had personally disliked during her own school days, was a good Headmistress. The one bit of news that moved her was that of her sister Andromeda, raising her grandson all alone. Narcissa held fast. She wouldn't contact her. That wouldn't help anyone.

She learned that Lucius muttering about “that detestable Weasley” was just as likely to be about one of the sons, Percy, as it was to be about the patriarch of the family.

She stopped wearing her wedding band and Lucius didn't notice.

She dreamt about Bellatrix and woke up unhappy.

“Lucius,” she said during a rare dinner together, “I can't do this anymore.”

Lucius set down his cutlery and wiped his mouth. “What is it that you can't do anymore?”

“All of this. I want to go away. I want to be alone.”

She couldn't bring herself to say the word divorce. That word had never been part of her personal vocabulary. It was something that happened to other people, not her. Her mother, had she been alive or if her portrait had been in the dining room, would have screamed. Even Bellatrix, so quick to turn her back on certain parts of pureblood etiquette and ideals, would have killed her own husband before bringing up divorce as an option.

“You don't know what you're saying,” said Lucius.

“I do,” she countered. “I mean it. I think it would be better for us both.”

“And Draco?”

She glared at him, rage filling every part of her being. “After everything our family has been through, you will not make me feel guilty by using Draco. He has been the reason I have done everything since the moment he was born.”

Lucius shifted his gaze from her. She couldn't remember the last time he looked away first.

“I mean it, Lucius,” she said quietly. “I mean it more than I've meant anything in the last year.”

Weeks later, Narcissa sat in the library, reading a biography of Calliope the Wretched. The low points in Calliope's life made Narcissa feel a little less alone, while the highs made her almost optimistic. It was a good distraction from her current situation in any case.

She and Lucius were in the middle of discussions of how to go about things. There were a few accounts they had to go through, antiques to divide between them. It had all been very civil, if a little on the quiet side.

For the moment, Narcissa was content to forget about the end of her marriage. Calliope was about to be tried for performing spells on a Muggle farmer's goats in an attempt to run him off his land. Her methods were, of course, terribly unsubtle, but that was part of the charm of Calliope and, Narcissa reminded herself, it had been a different time. Now, that sort of behavior was reserved for a lower sort of person.

The door to the library opened and Lucius stepped in. Unusually, he was home an hour early. It was the first time since their dinner conversation that he had intruded upon her time in the library.

Narcissa set her book down, not bothering to mark her place.

“I brought this,” said Lucius, offering her a roll of parchment. “When it's all done, you can go here for your alone time.”

She ignored the way he said the last two words, like he was mocking her, and gingerly took the parchment from him. It was information for a place called Autrey Island. A getaway for witches and wizards, it advertised. No contact with the outside world. No owl post, no FLOO Network, no apparating. The guest, it said, need not worry about anything. A groundskeeper lived there and could provide any assistance necessary.

“It was highly recommended to me,” continued Lucius. “Since our particular situation will no doubt interest many, you may find it to your liking.”

Narcissa felt her heart flutter in her chest. Though they had been civil with one another, this was above and beyond what she expected from Lucius. It wasn't love that she felt, but a fondness for him. She ran her thumb over the parchment, wondering as she looked at it if maybe this was a sign that after some time they might be friendly again one day. She might like that.

“And you?” she asked.

Lucius tipped his head to one side. “I'm sure I'll find a way to weather the storm.”

The morning Narcissa was set to leave for Autrey Island, she went through her bags one more time. All of her other possessions had been moved to an old manor owned by her family the night before. There was no one to contest her ownership anymore.

It was nostalgia that kept Narcissa at Malfoy Manor her last night. All of her paintings and furniture gone, it was the walls and floors that she wanted to spend one more night with. Lucius had expressed his desire for her to stay away unless invited once she left and she could not be hurt by his request considering the circumstances. 

She wandered the darkened halls until late, remembering fond memories. It was those related to Draco that she wanted to relive the most. She peeked into his bedroom, gazing into every corner, trying to burn every detail into her mind. She closed the door only when she was sure she had it memorized.

Narcissa opened up her bag of toiletries. Everything necessary was in there.

She and Lucius had barely spoken at dinner the night before. It might have been better for them both if they'd dined separately. Some things, however, seem like the right thing to do at the time and Narcissa had eaten her entire meal there, thinking that one day she might look back at that night and be glad that she had. Lucius had said a stilted goodbye when he rose, his plate clean, instead of the usual goodnight.

A house elf interrupted Narcissa just as she was finishing taking inventory.

Impatiently, she looked at the clock. She had two minutes until her portkey, a silver teapot, would take her away from Malfoy Manor. That was another thing Lucius had kindly set up for her. It was good timing too. By their estimation, the divorce would go public the next day.

“Yes?” she asked.

The house elf bowed low and presented her with a copy of the Daily Prophet. Without thinking, Narcissa snatched it up. As soon as she had it, the house elf popped out of the room.

“The Prophet goes to Lucius,” she muttered, but began flipping through it anyway. She stopped, mouth agape, at a column she saw.

MALFOY DIVORCE, the headline screamed.

She skimmed the rest of the words, feeling lightheaded, not sure if she was imagining it all. Rumors of infidelity, it claimed in one paragraph. A terrible consequence of war, it said in another. And there, right at the end, a quote from an anonymous source that was most definitely Lucius putting the blame fully on her. Rita Skeeter had written the article.

“That damnable man,” Narcissa seethed, throwing the paper away from herself and grabbing her luggage just in time to touch the portkey.


	2. Chapter 2

Portkeys were not Narcissa Malfoy's favorite mode of transportation. That alone might have been enough to put her in a foul mood. The vile scheming of Lucius set her over the edge so that when she collected herself and was greeted by the groundskeeper, she growled at his overly cheery greeting.

“Name's Bob,” he told her. His clothes were brown and ragged. His beard, black as coal, was unruly. Though he was the size of an average wizard, Narcissa was reminded of that oaf Dumbledore had unwisely hired at Hogwarts to teach Care of Magical Creatures. 

Bob sat comfortably on his porch, his big boots hitting the wood boards with a thump as he let his feet fall from their perch on the railing. He held in his hands a copy of the Daily Prophet, the paper opened to the page devoted to Narcissa and Lucius. Under her glare, he rolled it up and stuck it under his arm, standing up finally to do his job.

“I thought there was no post here,” Narcissa said.

“No post for guests, 'less it's an emergency. A death or an urgent owl from the Ministry,” Bob explained. “That was the one condition the Ministry fought over. Didn't want criminals and the like hiding out here. I live here full-time, so I gets post delivered. Ministry said we had to have at least one owl, in case--”

“In case of emergencies,” finished Narcissa.

“Exactly, Mrs. Malfoy,” said Bob, elongating the last syllable of her name. He was doing an impeccable job of not meeting her eye, enraging her further.

Would he use that owl of his to immediately let people know that the horrible husband-leaving Narcissa Malfoy was currently on Autrey Island? She thought about leaving right away. Only there was no convenient way to leave. She didn't have another portkey set up. The parchment had claimed the FLOO Network was not connected to the fireplaces on the island. Narcissa hadn't brought a broom and she detested that method of transportation almost as much as portkeys.

“Let's get you to your cabin,” Bob said, swiping up Narcissa's luggage from the ground. “This here is mine. If you need me, you know where to come.” A big G was engraved on the door of Bob's cabin. Only an idiot wouldn't be able to tell that it belonged to the resident groundskeeper.

It was warmer outside than Narcissa expected. The cool weather of the past month was replaced with an artificial comfortable temperature that had Narcissa taking off her cloak soon after they began walking.

Turning his head and seeing this, Bob said, “Like that? Bit o' magic that many guests compliment. Part of the charm, they say.”

It looked like many other places Narcissa had been. Trees for privacy, a sandy beach to sit on. The cabins, she saw, were placed strategically to give the impression of solitude. It just might be the best place for her.

“Not many looking for the kind of peace and quiet we have here right now,” said Bob as they passed another empty cabin.

“Perfect,” replied Narcissa.

Bob stopped in front of one of the cabins. It looked like all of the others. A single floor, wooden, with a small porch to sit on. Carved next to the door was the number 9. “Here we are.” He set her luggage down and wiped at his forehead with his Daily Prophet. “Would you like me to bring your things inside, Mrs. Malfoy?” He sounded as if he was mocking her.

“No, that won't be necessary.”

“Well, you know where to find me.” Bob reached into the breast pocket of his grimy shirt and pulled out a key, which he handed to Narcissa. “Hope your stay is a happy one,” he recited. Something to that effect had been on the original pamphlet Narcissa had read. He frowned, as if doubting that she would enjoy herself, then began making his way back toward his own cabin.

Narcissa unlocked the door and pulled her bags inside. It felt good to slam the door shut behind her, to hear the rattling of the windows. She was still angry enough to entertain the idea of destroying everything around her. Smash all the windows, set fire to the furniture. She'd never acted out quite like that. That sort of behavior had been more Bellatrix's style.

The security deposit wouldn't be returned if she did that. And no doubt it would do nothing for her image if word got out. She sighed and threw her cloak over the back of the couch.

She unpacked her clothes slowly. There were house elves to do tasks like that, to tidy and cook and do whatever else guests wanted, but Narcissa thought nothing of that. She had a whole day ahead of her, a whole day alone, free, and she had no idea how to fill it. For a moment, with a favorite dress in her hand, ready to be put away, she felt scared.

Pushing the fear down, Narcissa put away her clothes and then inspected the cabin. She hadn't cared what it looked like when Lucius first told her about Autrey Island. The thought of being away had been enough.

Now, she moved around, taking inventory of space and items. The main room included a fireplace, a couch, a bookshelf with enough books to keep a person busy on holiday. The paintings on the walls included a ghastly knight with the head of a foe in his hand. He waved the decapitated head at Narcissa as she passed.

The kitchen and dining room were combined and separated from the main room only by a row of wooden beams. A small stove stood in the corner for those who wished to prepare their own meals. Narcissa grimaced at the sight of it. The Black children had never needed to cook for themselves.

The only other rooms were the bedroom, perfectly simple with a rustic theme, and the bathroom, which included a clawfoot tub.

While digging through one of the closets, Narcissa found canvas and paints and brushes. She carefully pulled them out.

“Oh, an artist,” said the knight in the painting.

For reasons that escaped Narcissa, perhaps it was stress, she began to laugh until her stomach ached. The knight mumbled something else, but she could not hear him over her laughter.

\----------

She dreamt, that night, of Lucius and Rita Skeeter. They were in a tea room, secluded in a corner, Rita's quill at the ready while Lucius buttered a roll.

“She could not conceive another child after Draco,” Lucius drawled. “I might have killed her then.” He took a bite of his roll and added, after swallowing, “That part is off the record, of course.”

“Of course,” Rita said, sympathetically. “It would be so difficult to continue a marriage in those circumstances. How lucky that you had Draco on the first try.”

“Indeed,” agreed Lucius. “It helped on those long nights, having to be beside such a cold, frigid woman. Narcissa has a light allergy to shellfish. I used that to my advantage a few times over the years. Never enough to make her sick. Just enough to cause discomfort.”

“Understandable. Completely understandable,” Rita breathed. “I knew she was trouble back in our Hogwarts days, you know.”

Narcissa entered the tea room then, striding confidently over to the two cowards. Before she could reach them, both Lucius and Rita took out their wands and fired spells at her. Narcissa fell to the floor. Immense pain rippled through her body. No one came to help. Lucius and Rita went back to their interview, as if nothing had interrupted them at all.

Narcissa awoke with a heavy feeling in her stomach. The dream had been unnerving. There was no proof that she hadn't been able to conceive again after Draco. True, the couple had tried and nothing had come of it, but Lucius had been worried that he was the reason why and so they had left it at that, without turning to outside help.

She also, as far as she knew, wasn't allergic to shellfish.

She didn't want to think about Lucius and Rita turning their wands on her. That would only serve to anger her, to cause her to be in a foul mood for the whole day.

\----------

Even there, on Autrey Island, Narcissa found a schedule. Breakfast in the morning, a walk outside, then reading on the beach. She painted in the afternoon. She'd painted as a girl, but had stopped after she started going to Hogwarts. Even though the canvas was covered in mistakes and smudges by the time she finished each day, she found herself smiling. After, there was dinner, cooked by the house elves, and a bath.

She tried not to think of Lucius and did her best to ignore any strange dreams she had.

On her fourth day, Narcissa felt watched. She kept to her schedule, even painting, though it made her feel exposed and too vulnerable. That was a feeling she hadn't experienced often in life and her jaw began to ache with how clenched it was.

Perhaps it was Bob, she thought. Maybe he had stayed away to give her a false sense of security, to get comfortable, and now he was trying to spy to report back to anyone with a Galleon who would listen. The terrible Malfoy woman, he might be writing on a small piece of parchment, is as cold as the world thinks she is. She's completely unaffected by the end of her marriage.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Narcissa peeked out of all the windows in the cabin. She held her breath and listened carefully, her face a centimeter from the glass. 

The very trees that provided her with privacy also prevented her from getting a clear view. Unusually, there were gray clouds overhead. Narcissa had seen nothing but clear skies or brilliant white clouds since her arrival. Her heart beat quicker, adrenaline coursed through her.

With a huff, she turned from the window. It was useless. All she was doing was getting herself worked up.

That evening, after dinner, Narcissa went on another walk. The feeling of being watched was still there, despite her attempts to convince herself that she was imagining it. Her body was filled with energy. Knowing herself, she wouldn't be able to get to sleep until she expended some of it

Darkness covered the island. Twigs broke beneath her feet as she strolled. Nocturnal animals called out. Everything was completely normal, she reminded herself. She held her wand tighter in her hand.

A bird squawked loudly nearby. The sound was so sudden that Narcissa stumbled. She clipped a tree with her shoulder and hissed as pain erupted in it.

“Just a bird,” she muttered.

With a hand holding onto her left shoulder, she continued walking. She'd turn back soon, she promised herself. Only a little farther and she'd have peace of mind. No one was there. No one but Lucius knew where she was.

She climbed up a hill, letting her hand fall from her shoulder. The pain was fading. 

This was it, she decided. She'd take a look up at the top of the hill and then go back. She was being ridiculous. She knew that. Yet she couldn't help it.

At the top, she looked from left to right, surveying all around her. Nothing. There was nothing. Until she finished her arc and saw a cabin with smoke coming from the chimney and a lantern glowing in a window.

Another guest? She'd been given the impression that no one else would be on the island, hadn't she? She felt a pang of annoyance. This was why she'd been uncomfortable all day. This person infringing on her space. The anxiety she'd felt all day faded as quickly as it'd started.

She turned and began making her way back to her own cabin.

Unknown terrors, someone waiting in the darkness to attack her, there was little she could do about those things. Broken promises from a business? The terminology might be a little strong, but that was something she could fix. There was a reason Lucius had often left those matters to her.

The whole way back, Narcissa prepared her complaint. Come dawn, she'd give Bob a piece of her mind. Maybe he would tremble like the woman who almost ruined Draco's sixth birthday party with her dreadful decorations. That would be satisfactory.

Narcissa locked the door of her cabin and got ready for bed. The fire in the fireplace was still going strong. The cabin was warm, comfortable. She smiled for what might have been the first time all day. She was safe. She had a task to look forward to.

She crawled into bed and pulled the covers up, yawning as she did so. Already, she could feel sleep creeping up on her.

Consumed by her thoughts and the irresistible pull of sleep, Narcissa did not notice the shadow outside her window.


	3. Chapter 3

Bob's feet were propped up on the front desk. He drank from a cup of tea. The morning edition of the Daily Prophet was laid out on his legs. He yawned and turned the page, briefly glancing up when Narcissa barged in.

“Morning,” Bob said, then took another sip of his tea.

“Good morning, Bob,” Narcissa said. She was wearing heels for the first time since coming to Autrey Island. She was not one to ignore any advantage in an interaction, especially not an added inch or two to her height. Her mother had taught her that one. She tilted her chin up to look down on Bob. “I have a complaint to make.”

“Ya do?” Bob blinked, letting his feet drop from the desk and the paper to slide down onto the floor. He leaned forward in his seat. “Wha' seems to be the problem?”

Narcissa stepped closer, laying one hand on top of Bob's desk. “While out for a walk yesterday, I saw another cabin in use. It's my understanding that while making arrangements it was insinuated by you to my husband that no one else had a reservation at this time.”

Bob cleared his throat. His gaze flickered from Narcissa to the copy of the Prophet on the floor back to her.

Surely there wasn't anything else in the paper about her? Bob's expression made her doubt that assumption. Though not outright disrespectful, he looked less than prepared to bend over backwards for Narcissa. Her confidence faltered.

“Privacy is important to all guests here,” Bob recited. “At the time you was booked, there weren't more reservations. That's what your ex-husband was told.” 

The use of the word “ex” caused Narcissa to flinch.

Bob's expression softened. “You don't have to worry about the new guest, Mrs. Malfoy. It's someone come to lock themselves away and do some work. I doubt you'll even see 'em.”

“Ms. Black,” Narcissa replied. “Might as well be Ms. Black.”

Bob nodded. “Ms. Black, then. If I was you, I wouldn't worry 'bout a thing.” He smiled, his crowded teeth barely visible through his beard. “You won't find a nicer place than this here island.”

“I don't know about that,” Narcissa muttered under her breath, turning to leave.

She'd given up too soon. She hadn't given in so quickly since the days of the Dark Lord. That had been a matter of survival. When you're told the most powerful wizard of all time wants to use your home, you don't put up a fight. Some guy named Bob making you feel inferior with well-placed looks and a knowing tone? That was just wounded pride.

Disgusted with herself, Narcissa returned to her cabin, taking a long way around the island.

All of it could be blamed on Lucius. He hadn't been happy about the divorce. That had been clear from the beginning. But, and this was the part that stung now, he had been civil. He hadn't fought over money or possessions. It helped that Narcissa had money of her own. All that civility had dried up or had never really been there at all.

His suggestion of Autrey Island was no longer an olive branch. Narcissa saw it now for what it had always been: a way to get her disconnected from the world so that he could manipulate the public's view. She'd thought this that first day, when she'd almost missed her portkey. Lucius so loved to make a production of things. No doubt he'd congratulated himself when he came up with the plan with the house elf.

Narcissa's anger from that first day had dissipated. She couldn't argue with the Autrey Island brochure. It did have a calming effect on those that stayed there. Now, knowing that Lucius's campaign was still going strong but not knowing what he was saying, her fury reignited.

Damn that insufferable man, she thought.

Narcissa did not read on the beach that morning. She painted through lunch and into the afternoon. A charm had been placed on the closet. No matter how much canvas she used, the same amount waited in the closet, ready for use, the next time the door was opened. The room was beginning to look cluttered with all of her novice work. On a break, she moved them out onto the porch.

When she was finished painting, she washed dried paint from her hands. Looking into the mirror, she saw drops that had somehow splattered onto her cheeks. She washed her face as well, steadfastly ignoring how tired she looked.

She headed for the beach after that. Though she had no interest in reading, she carried a book with her. She took her time, meandering on and off the usual path she took. She reached the beach half an hour later. The sun would set soon. 

Water crashed along the shore. The wind caused her robes to flutter about. The few strands of hair that had fallen down whipped around her face. 

If she closed her eyes, Narcissa was able to pretend nothing else existed. No deplorable ex-husband, no son pulling away, no society whispering about her. She breathed in deeply then slowly let it out. What did she care what others said? Hadn't she wanted to turn her back on the world anyway?

But she wanted to be forgotten. Lucius was preventing that.

She opened her eyes and sighed.

In the distance, a figure sat on a small sandy hill. They were bent over, back hunched absurdly, hair blowing wildly in the wind.

Narcissa squinted and crept closer.

It was a woman, Narcissa realized. Her hair cut off any view of her face. Her wand was left on the sand next to her, leaving her vulnerable. Narcissa did not reach for her own wand.

As if Narcissa had made a noise, the woman looked up. She had dark circles beneath her eyes. Her lips parted, a small breath leaving her as she recognized Narcissa. Her fingers relaxed along the sides of the book in her lap. The wind caught the edges of the pages, losing her place.

The girl, Narcissa thought. No, not a girl anymore, just as Draco was no longer a boy. The woman who had aided Potter. Granger. Narcissa had not thought of her since the trials.

“Ms. Black,” Granger said.

Narcissa's lip twitched. Granger knew then. Hell, everyone must know.

“It seems we're neighbors, Ms. Granger.”

The wind picked up, blowing sand all around them. Dark clouds rolled closer overhead. The sun's rays began to disappear.

“It seems so,” Granger quietly replied.


	4. Chapter 4

Granger's invitation to sit was unexpected. So unexpected that Narcissa, before she could think of all the reasons why it was a bad idea, sat down.

Narcissa knew all of the strategies used by others in her social class and age group. She saw through the ass-kissing of women like Rita Skeeter and the fake friendship of that Zabini woman.

Hermione Granger, however, had Narcissa stumped. There was nothing to gain from a woman like Narcissa now. No one was there to see them together for a photo opportunity, not that that would help Granger.

Feeling unsettled, Narcissa waited.

Granger adjusted the closed book on her lap. With evening encroaching, she would have been forced to stop reading soon anyway.

“Did you come to get away from the rumors?” Granger asked. When Narcissa did not answer, she continued on. “That's what I would have done. Have done, in a way.”

“I'm not aware of whatever you're speaking about.”

Granger nodded, picking at the corner of her book. “Officially, I'm doing research for the Minister. The dull law study that no one else really wants to do after the excitement of a war.”

Narcissa studied her carefully. Granger's gaze never left her book. The corner was now curved upward from her incessant fidgeting. “A task no one would want to do themselves, but also a task many wouldn't want a Muggleborn doing?”

“Basically.”

“The Ministry doesn't change overnight.”

“No.” Granger set her hands one on top of the other, as if trying to refrain from pulling on the corner anymore. “I wanted to tell you, I saw Draco. He looked okay. In case you were worrying about him.”

Narcissa felt her cool mask slip into place. So this was what Granger was up to. Small talk before going in for the kill. A jab at her. She should have known. One of the key supporters of Potter would try to kick her while she was down. Why had she sat down? Her jaw clenched and she stood up.

“I just,” Granger began. She stopped and pushed her hair out of her face. “I didn't say it to hurt you. It's just, if I were in your position, I would want to know.” More quietly, she said, “He was in the Ministry arguing with his father in a hidden away corridor. Right by my office, before you think I was intentionally spying. He doesn't like what's being said about you.”

The tension in Narcissa's shoulders melted. Lucius had a habit of acting before thinking. For all his talk about loving Draco, which she believed he did, and wanting to do father-son activities, he wouldn't have considered Draco's feelings before speaking to journalists. Narcissa only hoped Granger had been the only person to witness the dispute.

“Goodnight, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa called over her shoulder.

“Goodnight.”

Narcissa felt marginally lighter as she walked back to the cabin. Whether Granger was being honest about her good intentions, Narcissa neither knew nor cared. It had been an enlightening encounter. Granger knew her weak spot, that was true, but Granger was a young woman, busy with Ministry work if she was telling the truth. 

Narcissa had heard much while Draco was at Hogwarts. Granger would not be running to the Prophet to talk about her. She hadn't once made a move for her wand either. As long as Narcissa stayed on her toes, she had nothing to worry about.

Seeing the welcoming sight of smoke coming from her chimney, Narcissa smiled. Everything was on track, she told herself. Her little world, confined to her small space on Autrey Island, could continue on with little disturbance.

She climbed up the stairs onto the porch and felt the hairs on her neck raise. She looked around, turning on her heels. She saw no one.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the paintings she had set out. All of them were slashed down the middle.

Narcissa hurried inside and locked the door behind herself. All was quiet.

Objects didn't destroy themselves, no matter what other odd things might happen in the world.

Methodically, Narcissa checked each room, each window, each dark corner. Unless someone invisible was inside, there was no one else in the house.

“What's gotten into you?” the knight in the painting asked.

Narcissa ignored him.

Convinced she was alone, Narcissa brewed a cup of tea. She was too unnerved for a bath, too anxious to want to interact with a house elf. She sat at the wooden table in the kitchen, pondering suspects, all while the wind picked up outside.

Could Granger have done it? Was it possible that she had stopped by Narcissa's cabin right after Narcissa left for her walk? Had Granger known she was on the island? It seemed unlikely that Granger would have been able to slash the paintings and then get to the beach, but Narcissa had taken her time. It was possible, she decided.

Then there was Bob. But what did he have to gain from messing with her? Enjoyment? The satisfaction of disturbing a guest? If that was the case, he didn't make a habit of it. No one would come if he did. Had Lucius asked him to? 

Bob also had control of the house elves. He could have told one of them to do it so that he wouldn't have to get his own hands dirty.

If not Bob, and perhaps the most unlikely scenario, was a house elf acting alone. A house elf with a grudge. Most would never think of doing such a thing, but Narcissa had learned from Dobby, that traitorous creature. There would always be that tiny percentage that didn't adhere to the status quo. 

Narcissa was in the unenviable position of being a target from either side of the aisle. A house elf that had heard of the so-called heroic Dobby might lash out at her, if he knew of her actions during the war. Likewise, one that saw her as a traitor for her actions at the end, well, they might enact a petty revenge too.

It was making Narcissa feel as paranoid as Lucius. They were just paintings. She didn't care about them. They were barely more than a collection of smudges.

It might have been some kind of naive creature, one that had no grudge or ill will toward her. While she was out, it might have clambered up onto the porch and taken an interest in them.

She didn't really believe that possibility. Not deep down.

Narcissa finished her cup of tea and left it on the table. Yes, she decided, that's all it was. A harmless creature.

Having convinced herself, on the surface, Narcissa went into the bedroom and prepared for bed. The next day she would return to her schedule. She'd read and paint and not worry about the shredded canvas or what Bob was reading in the Prophet or what Granger thought of her. She wouldn't worry about anything at all.

As she fell asleep, tossing and turning, something outside scratched along the window pane.


	5. Chapter 5

When Draco was four, he'd gotten very sick. No matter what Narcissa did, be it holding a damp cloth to his forehead or brewing medicinal potions, nothing seemed to work. 

Narcissa did not want to send him to St. Mungo's. She wanted him at home. Finally, Lucius sent for someone to come. 

The healer from St. Mungo's had been kind, speaking to Draco in a calm, melodic voice. “Everything's fine,” she said to Narcissa. “There's nothing to worry about.”

But that's all that Narcissa did.

When Draco coughed, her heart leapt into her throat. When Draco whined, she wanted to cry. She'd failed him somehow, allowed an illness into their home. She did not leave his chambers, not even to sleep. She stayed awake until she couldn't any longer, falling asleep in the rocking chair by his bed. She awoke every few minutes, just to see if anything had changed.

That was one of the worst experiences of Narcissa's life. She'd felt so vulnerable, like such a failure. Logic be damned, it was all her fault.

The morning Draco felt better, when his fever had gone and his skin no longer felt clammy, that was one of the best mornings of Narcissa's life. Her sluggish body slumped in relief, the tightness in her chest lessened. It was like waking up from a nightmare. 

She didn't care that he ordered around the house elves viciously or talked back to her. That morning, he could have said or done anything in the world and she would have excused it.

Narcissa felt the same way waking up in the cabin. Her brain felt foggy, as if she hadn't slept or was under the influence of something, and her body felt like it'd been through some kind of trial. Only there was no Draco around to make it all seem worth it.

It was the paranoia of the previous night, she decided. That took a lot out of a person. She'd seen it before. Gray hairs sprouting suddenly, twitching eyelids, tremors in hands. Waking up tired, that was not the worst that could happen.

Narcissa picked out a new book to read, one that she'd seen Bellatrix read when they were young girls. Bellatrix had turned up her nose at Narcissa when she expressed interest in the book, claiming that Narcissa was too young to read it. She couldn't believe that she recognized the cover after all those years, couldn't believe that she still, as if she was a child again, wanted to read it.

Granger was on the beach again. The wind was calmer, unlike Granger's hair. Her back was hunched, her book nestled in her lap.

Narcissa listened to the waves, closing her eyes to fully enjoy it. She surprised herself, after opening them, by settling down next to Granger and opening up her own book without greeting the other woman. The hill Granger was perched on, she reasoned, was the best spot on the beach and big enough for the two of them.

It was quiet other than the sound of the waves and the flipping of their book pages.

Narcissa's book was about a wizard dabbling in dark magic. She realized quickly why it would have interested Bellatrix. To her, the book was nothing more than trashy fiction, a good distraction from life. In the right hands, it could be a spark. Bellatrix would have read between the lines too much.

Narcissa peeked at Granger's book. It was a boring tome about wizarding law and taxes in Britain. Granger very well might have been telling the truth about her reason for staying on Autrey Island.

Granger sighed and closed her book. “Law isn't the most exciting subject,” she remarked.

“Neither is sub-par fiction.”

Granger's lips crooked up into a smile. The bags under her eyes were smaller. The little line between her eyebrows that Narcissa had noticed while they were both reading smoothed out. “If you want good fiction, I have a book or two I could loan you. I take them with me everywhere.”

“Muggle fiction?” asked Narcissa.

Granger nodded.

“I'm not that desperate. Yet.”

Narcissa expected Granger to scowl, but she laughed, tilting her head up so that her hair fell back behind her shoulders. “I know. Baby steps. The offer remains.” She bit her lip. “I hope I didn't step over a line yesterday with what I said.”

“Why did you say it?”

“As I said, it's what I would have wanted if I were in your position.” Granger tapped her fingers against her book. “If you're wondering because we were on different sides before, I don't have the capacity for the same all-burning anger that some of my friends have. I reserve that for specific people. You didn't make the list.”

“We have that in common then,” said Narcissa.

“Unless you're secretly still calling for pureblood supremacy. Then you might make the list purely out of annoyance.”

Narcissa laughed. “No, I'd rather stay away from that sort of spotlight.”

“And you're not funding some shadowy organization that I don't know about?”

“No, I'm certainly not doing that.”

“Then we're fine,” Granger said brightly.

With the beautiful scenery around them and the sun overhead, Narcissa felt herself softening. She cleared her throat, thought back to the day before, and tried to bring a hardness back into her demeanor. “What did you do yesterday? Before I saw you?”

Granger blinked. “I spent time in my cabin, then I went for a long walk before winding up here.”

It could have been her, Narcissa reminded herself. All of her friendly words and she might have slashed the paintings. Narcissa couldn't let her guard down, not for a woman who, by all rights, should not like her one bit.

“Why?” asked Granger.

Narcissa forced herself to smile. It wasn't difficult. She learned early in life how to fake a smile. She was almost as good as her mother had been. “Just making friendly conversation, Ms. Granger.”

Granger chewed on her bottom lip. After a moment, she released it and, in a whispery voice, said, “I need a break. Would you like some tea?”

Narcissa's smile this time was genuine. An invitation to Granger's cabin meant an opportunity to explore her motivations, to hopefully confirm or deny Narcissa's suspicions. A knife left carelessly out, perhaps covered in flecks of old paint. Granger accidentally showing animosity toward her. At the very least, Narcissa wouldn't have to worry about making her own tea.

“I'd love some,” said Narcissa.

\----------

Narcissa learned nothing about her paintings over tea. There wasn't a knife laid out for her to spot. That would have been too easy. 

Boxes full of books and parchment were scattered around the room. More evidence that Granger might be telling the truth.

Narcissa waited. That was another lesson from her mother. If you waited, you would always be able to find out what another person wanted from you. They'd let it slip, get too close to the topic they desperately wanted to bring up. All you had to do was be patient.

By the time Narcissa was walking back to her own cabin an hour later, she had Granger figured out.

She was lonely.

Narcissa saw it in the little moments. The way Granger's fingers kept hovering near the middle of the table, close as she dared to get to Narcissa. It was in the way Granger nearly sighed out names, never those of Potter or Weasley.

She asked Narcissa about Bob, if he was as grumpy with Narcissa as he was with her. He'd dropped her boxes, shrugging when she said they contained important Ministry documents, some of them possibly fragile. Was he an avid believer in blood politics?

Narcissa answered honestly. She didn't know. People, if they were smart, were being more subtle about that sort of thing. They'd be careful and make sure you were a believer too before saying anything. Narcissa cleared her throat. “That's based on what I've heard in the last year.”

“So he hasn't said anything to you?” 

Narcissa had laughed. “Ms. Granger, people don't say much to me at all.”

The satisfaction of figuring Granger out stayed with Narcissa until she reached her front door. She'd been so proud of herself walking out of Granger's cabin that she'd answered in the affirmative when asked if they'd see each other the next day.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Narcissa felt a longing in her chest. It was like a small hole, barely there, but vulnerable to being ripped into something larger.

As children, Bellatrix and Andromeda were punished for ruining one of their mother's favorite pillows. Both of her sisters were good at noticing little imperfections and exploiting them. Bellatrix twisted her finger around in the hole she found, making it bigger and bigger. Andromeda stole the stuffing out bit by bit.

Why? They hadn't had a good reason for their mother or for Narcissa.

She imagined Bellatrix in front of her, reaching with claw-like fingernails, driving them deep into her chest. Her sister's hollow eyes were devoid of any emotion, intent on their mission.

Narcissa's skin gave way. She didn't fight back. 

Bellatrix began pulling along the sides of the wound, widening it. Wider, wider, wider. Blood seeped out onto Narcissa's white nightgown. It'd be over soon. There was only so much a person could take.

Bellatrix pat her fingers along her handiwork, bent down and kissed Narcissa on her sweating brow.

From the shadows, Andromeda approached. She was healthier looking than Bellatrix with lighter hair and cheeks that weren't so gaunt and teeth that weren't rotted. She blinked innocently, crept closer, and with an apologetic smile reached with one hand into the gaping wound.

Detached, Narcissa watched.

Andromeda's dainty wrist twisted and out came Narcissa's dead heart. Was blood always so dark? She never realized how disgusting a heart looked.

Narcissa was being dramatic. A common complaint Lucius had leveled at her over the years.

Still, it was easier to go to sleep now. Easier to ignore the wind outside, the longing in her beating chest. She didn't know what any of it meant. Her last thought before sweet sleep overtook her was that she needed to learn how to be happy. That had been the point of all this, after all.

\----------

The next morning, Narcissa decided to ignore her growing suspicious nature. They weren't at war anymore. None of the other high society ladies were playing a mental Chess match with her, trying to see who would come out on top. She'd taken herself out of that equation. She wasn't married to a man she had to analyze, aware of the high probability of disappointment that would come. She'd take things as they came.

Narcissa tried this out on Granger first. She stopped trying to catch her out on some nefarious plot against her. That made the accepting of Granger's daily offer of tea easy. They weren't two players on opposing sides sizing each other up. They were two women in a new world, too similar to the old one, trying to find their place.

Granger's idea of small talk, regrettably, included the political climate of Wizarding Britain. It could only be expected, Narcissa supposed, of a woman who had gone through what she had. There was also the young woman's current occupation to consider. As far as Narcissa knew, there was no one in Granger's life who could have taught her differently.

Narcissa opened her mouth to politely explain to Granger that the status of giants and werewolves in society was not on the list of topics considered acceptable during teatime, or most other times at that, but stopped herself. What did it really matter? Granger wasn't part of polite society. The messy way she assembled their tea, the breathless way she spoke about taboo topics. Granger didn't care. Narcissa was on an island, far away from all the rules that had been ingrained in her from a young age. It didn't matter at all.

Instead of chastising Granger, Narcissa asked about the number of werewolves living in Britain.

Granger's face lit up with excitement. “That's the thing, even with the previous law that stated all werewolves had to declare themselves, many went into hiding. The Ministry has no way to give an accurate number. It could be a hundred, could be three hundred. That's a lot of people to be left to fend for themselves. The first thing that needs to be done is to lift all these prohibitions on housing and jobs. It's a small step, but an important one.”

Narcissa didn't know about that. Greyback and his friends hadn't left a good impression on her.

“Ms. Granger, what about hobbies? Surely you don't spend all of your time thinking about ways to help the,” she searched for a polite word, “downtrodden.”

“I read. But you knew that already.”

“Nothing artistic? Creative?”

Granger shook her head. Her bushy hair bounced on her shoulders. “I used to knit clothes for the house elves at Hogwarts.”

“That,” said Narcissa, “doesn't surprise me one bit. I was thinking something a bit more relaxing. Why don't you come paint with me one afternoon?”

“I have my work,” Granger hedged. “I'm not strictly on holiday like you.”

“And yet you still find the time to read and spend time with me,” countered Narcissa. “Try it. You might find you like it.”

Granger looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don't know. You can't be good at that by just reading about it.”

Narcissa smiled. She had her. “That's the point, Ms. Granger. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad. It's about enjoyment. Humor me?”

Uncertainly, Granger nodded.

\----------

Granger, it turned out, did enjoy painting. She was as good as Narcissa had been as a very young girl, that is to say, not very good at all, but she stood on Narcissa's porch and tried her best to paint a landscape with a proud smile on her face.

The sun was bright orange in the sky. Storm clouds approached from the west. They'd lose their light in an hour.

The next time Narcissa saw Bob, and she wasn't looking forward to it, she would have to ask him about the storm clouds. They shouldn't be there. The small drop in temperature at night also shouldn't happen. Granger had already said that she wouldn't be the one to ask him. That left the task to Narcissa.

Somehow, she didn't mind so much doing something like that for Granger. The way her face looked, so serious and intense, while she was working, made Narcissa want to do little things for her.

Narcissa's easel was a few feet from Granger's, angled so that she couldn't sneak a peek. She worked on a painting of Granger as she looked during teatime, happy and enthusiastic. It would be a gift. 

Narcissa didn't know exactly why she'd decided to paint Granger. She didn't need a reason, she decided.

While she worked on her hair, Narcissa thought about her new friendship with her. How easy it was to listen to Granger for hours at a time. Soon, Narcissa thought, she might even take her up on her offer of those Muggle books.

Friendships like this, born of loneliness and isolation, they didn't last. As soon as they left Autrey Island, they'd fall back into their old habits. Narcissa would get settled in her new home. Granger would return to Potter and Weasley, though she still didn't speak about them much.

Brown paint was flecked across Granger's cheek. The color of a tree transplanted in dots along her flesh. Narcissa wanted to remember that. She wanted to keep the image nestled in along with other memories, like the green of her gown at her favorite ball. That decided things for her.

“Ms. Granger, would you like to stay for dinner?”

Granger jumped at the question. Her brush, dipped in green, slid down the canvas in a line. She dabbed at it with one finger, smudging the line and the other paint around it. Looking up, she said, “I'd like that.”

\----------

Narcissa's own house elves would have known to forgo putting a dinner roll on her plate. She'd picked grilled chicken breast for dinner. Simple, something that anyone would like. As far as she was concerned, the best thing on the table was her glass of red wine.

Before dinner, Granger excused herself and scrubbed the brown paint off her cheek. Though Narcissa knew there was no trace of it left, she still thought she saw it beneath the rosy blush Granger sported. There, right where Granger touched the tip of her finger to, trying to feel if any was left.

Granger had no qualms about dinner rolls. She eagerly added butter and ate with gusto. She mixed her asparagus and mashed potatoes, took big bites of her chicken. If she had been a guest at one of Narcissa's dinner parties, Narcissa would have felt ill. Instead, she was amused.

“You haven't mentioned your friends, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley,” commented Narcissa.

Granger swallowed, wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “They're doing well,” she said distantly.

Narcissa bided her time by taking another sip of her wine. It was really good wine. She made a mental note to have some delivered to her new home whenever she decided to go.

“I wasn't completely honest before,” Granger said at last. “About why I'm here. I talked about quitting my job to get away for awhile, but Kingsley talked me into coming here and conducting this research instead. A sort of compromise.” She smiled sheepishly. “You and I aren't so unalike right now.”

“You and Mr. Weasley terminated your relationship.”

Granger nodded, staring down at her plate of food. “I wasn't ready for marriage. So I'm here.”

“It would be a shame to leave a respected position within the Ministry because of a relationship,” said Narcissa. “Based on what I've heard of you, Ms. Granger, that doesn't seem like normal behavior for you.”

“No,” admitted Granger, abandoning the last of her food. “When I was still in school, I expected to end up in a more academic position. I met with Professor McGonagall to discuss every possible career path I could take. None of them included me in a closet office, examining property and tax documents.” She blushed, as if she'd said too much.

“I suppose you wouldn't have. It does sound dull. More dull, even, than Mrs. Zabini's annual Halloween party.”

That got a chuckle out of Granger.

As it grew later, the wind picked up outside and thunder could be heard in the distance. A night owl screeched. Narcissa paid these things little attention.


	7. Chapter 7

Narcissa hid in her father's study. Her knees burned from where her dress had ridden up and the imported rug had broken her fall. She pushed her back into the bookshelf, a scroll of parchment bent from the pressure, as if she could become one of the important texts there and never have to worry again. 

It was not Narcissa who had drawn her father's ire. In two days time, Narcissa would leave her home for Hogwarts for the first time. As exhilarating as the prospect was, she was also nervous. Bellatrix and Andromeda had told her astonishing stories from their time there. Some of them had to be true. But in her father's study, her breath still coming out in gasps, Narcissa thought that maybe Andromeda wouldn't be joining her and Bellatrix.

Her father's deep baritone ricocheted throughout the manor. An owl had arrived for Andromeda. That's what started it all. Narcissa didn't know who it was from or what the letter might contain. All she knew was that her parents were displeased, so displeased that Andromeda now bore a scarlet cheek and, caught up in the moment, Narcissa feared for her sister's well-being.

The door to the study creaked open and soft footsteps crept toward Narcissa. She held her breath, dug her fingers into the carpet. 

Bellatrix's head appeared on the other side of the desk. Her wild dark hair was like a halo around her head. “Don't be afraid,” she said. “It's her fault for getting in trouble. We didn't do anything wrong.”

Narcissa awoke with a smile on her face. The morning rays of the sun, almost too bright, shone on her drowsy face. She'd forgotten to close the curtains on her window. A mistake, but with the day starting out so lovely, she pushed it out of her mind. On the table next to her bed, fresh coffee waited for her, steam wafting up from the cup.

After dressing, Narcissa went out onto the porch to finish her coffee. Autrey Island looked like it did in the brochure. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. There was no sign of the stormy clouds that had plagued the island the last few nights. It was paradise.

Suddenly, she thought of Granger. Beautiful, naive Granger.

After dinner, Narcissa had noticed a pulling sensation in her chest. Just as Granger still let her hands hover in the middle of the table, Narcissa felt the desire to grab onto her nervous fingers, to cover them with her own. The repercussions of such an action seemed distant to her.

It was the influence of the island, she thought. Things like age and social class didn't matter so much. Had the morning not been so beautiful, Narcissa might have shrugged the feelings away. But what was so bad about inviting Granger to dinner again? What was the worst that could happen?

“Mornin',” Bob called out.

Narcissa started, spilling a few drops of coffee onto her hand.

Bob, looking pleased with himself, stood a little distance away to the left. In his arms, he carried a stack of wood. Rolled up, the Daily Prophet stuck out of the back pocket of his trousers. It might have been her imagination, but Narcissa thought he was keenly staring at the canvases on her porch.

“Good morning,” Narcissa said coldly.

“Everything all right, Ms. Black?”

Her named sounded like an insult coming from his mouth. Her lips curled up into a sneer.

“Not having any problems, are you?” Bob continued. “Weather's been a bit touch and go, I know. I sent an owl to the owner jus' this morning about that. House elves bringin' enough wood for the fire?”

“Yes, the firewood has been satisfactory,” said Narcissa. “Why has the weather been 'touch and go'?”

“Beats me,” said Bob. “I didn't do the charms to keep it all nice. 'Spect the owner will get back to me soon. He did the charms in the first place.” He squinted at her. “If you wan' a discount, I guess that could be done.”

“We'll look into that when the time comes,” said Narcissa.

Behind Bob, Narcissa saw another figure approaching. Looking much more awake than Narcissa felt, Granger smiled brightly upon seeing her and waved.

“Ms. Granger, you're looking cheerful this morning,” said Narcissa.

“'Lo,” Bob mumbled. He frowned and readjusted the wood in his arms before shuffling away.

Narcissa watched Bob for a moment before turning her attention back to Granger. She wasn't bogged down with books this morning. The weather being as nice as it was, she had on only a simple jacket.

“I didn't know if you'd be up and about,” said Granger. She stepped up onto the porch and observed the view as if she hadn't already done so previously. “I planned to leave this and be on my way.” From inside of her jacket, she produced a slim hardcover book.

“What is it?”

Granger handed the book over. It had a pale pink cover. A book of Muggle poetry, Narcissa saw. “I know you said you weren't up for Muggle literature yet,” said Granger. “But I brought it just in case you're ever in the mood. It's one of my favorites.”

Narcissa leafed through it. “I'm sure it's lovely. I have all the time in the world now, I suppose. No reason not to enjoy a little exotic poetry.”

Granger blinked. “That was easier than expected. Truthfully, I thought you'd say no. That's part of the reason I wanted to drop it and dash.”

“Do I really seem that harsh? No, don't answer that.” Narcissa held the book close to her chest, over her heart. “Now that we're both awake, and you're here, I wonder if you have plans for the day, Hermione?”

“The truth? I have a lot of work. I thought I might put that off for the day though.”

“Perfect,” said Narcissa. “Between the two of us, I think we should be able to find something of interest to do on this island.”

\----------

“I don't swim,” Narcissa said.

“That's fine. We'll just put our feet in.”

The wind ruffled their hair as they sat on the soft sand. Hermione pulled her boots off and leaned back, letting the salt water lick her toes. More slowly, Narcissa pulled one boot off then the other.

“That's the spirit,” said Hermione.

The water, surprisingly, felt good on Narcissa's flesh. She closed her eyes and smiled. With the sun shining down on them, she didn't care about the strange weather the last couple of nights or even the unsolved case of her slashed paintings.

“I wish it could stay like this,” Hermione said. “We wouldn't be here, like this, if we weren't on this island.”

“No, I doubt we would.”

There was a pause. Then, Hermione said, “You called me by my first name.”

Narcissa opened her eyes. Hermione looked hopeful. “Yes, I suppose I did. Of course, you should feel free to do the same.”

“Narcissa.” Hermione smiled brightly. “It's a beautiful name.”

Narcissa scoffed. “I've heard that line before.”

“It's true,” protested Hermione. Quietly, she added, “When we leave here, maybe we could continue to see each other. That might be forward, but--”

“I had been hoping the same myself. If you hadn't noticed, my current social circle has dwindled down.”

Hermione blushed. “Yes, it has.”

“Tell me, what have they been saying? I only saw the first article. Two minutes later my portkey brought me here. Lucius timed it perfectly.”

Hermione dug her heels into the wet sand. For a minute, Narcissa thought she might not answer. “I don't know what has been written since I got here, but what I heard before wasn't good. Infidelity, frigidness, I think you can guess everything that's been said. It's like there's a machine out there, turning everything to your ex-husband's favor. Probably orchestrated by him.”

“He'd need some help, but very much orchestrated by him,” said Narcissa dryly. “I should have expected it. He was much too civil.”

“Break-ups make people do all kinds of things,” mumbled Hermione.

Narcissa reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Hermione's face. “You must be talking of your own recent break-up.”

“It's been hard on a lot of people. The Weasleys were ready to welcome me into their family. I was already part of their family,” she corrected, “I think they're all a little hurt and confused. Harry's caught in the middle. That's why I was happy to get away. To give everyone a chance to calm down.”

Narcissa wanted to say that there were better families to be part of than the Weasleys, but she clamped her lips shut. The Malfoy and Black families weren't better in the eyes of the public. Not anymore.

With a searing pain in her chest, Narcissa realized she had nothing to offer Hermione. The idea of giving her a painting of herself, of continuing their friendship, it was all silly. She should be happy for their time on Autrey Island and leave it at that.

“Look.” Hermione pointed toward the horizon. “Isn't it beautiful?”

A giant white cloud was next to the sun in the sky. A flock of birds flew beneath it. It was gorgeous. As Narcissa watched, she felt Hermione's hand cover her own in the sand.

\----------

Two empty bottles of wine sat lonely on the table. With darkness, the fire in the living room became vital. Hermione and Narcissa sat on the couch near it. Warmth from the heat and the wine caused their cheeks to redden.

Narcissa could feel her bun, hastily done after their beach excursion, beginning to fall, but ignored it. She was using it as a test. She was no longer the perfect woman, immaculate and knowledgeable about what to say or do, if only she could refrain from fixing it. The other, more selfish, part was that, in an irrational way, she feared that the moment would be broken if she so much as breathed.

Hermione sat casually next to her, so close their legs touched. While Hermione had been animated earlier, now she spoke more softly, like she was saying something important for the very first time. If Narcissa so much as moved, she might break the moment and she'd never have it again. She couldn't have that.

“The letter was unsigned,” Hermione said. “It could have been anyone. How many people know that I work at the Ministry now due to the papers?” She laughed. It sounded false. “And to think it wasn't a threatening letter that sent me out here to hide, but a bad break-up. You get used to people not liking you, but not your closest friends looking at you differently, I suppose.” 

She'd been watching the fire as she spoke. She finally looked at Narcissa, who was hanging onto her every word. “I'm sorry, I've been talking for so long about something of such little consequence.”

Narcissa let out a tiny breath. Her world was hazy from the wine. With little thought about consequences, she reached for Hermione's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I don't think that a letter like that is of little consequence, Hermione. There are all types of people in this world. We both know that well. You never know what type it is that is sending trash like that.”

Hermione's face flooded with relief. “It was a little scary,” she admitted. “It has been awhile since someone has said something to vile to me. Not many employees at the Ministry will actually call me a Mudblood.”

Narcissa relaxed, no longer feeling like she could ruin the moment. She smiled lazily at the happy feeling in her chest. Dinner had been good, the wine even better. Life was looking up. “To think, “she said, “that for all you know, it could have even come from Mr. Weasley or one of his friends.”

“What?”

Narcissa did not see the flash of hurt and anger on Hermione's face. She saw only her brilliant eyes and the way her cheeks flushed to a pretty pink color. With some effort, Narcissa made her hand stay steady and caressed Hermione's cheek. “You said that Mr. Weasley and the others didn't take the break-up well,” she explained. “They might write something like that if they're hurt or angry. Even if they don't intend to do anything else.”

Hermoine pushed Narcissa away. “What are you saying? Ron and the rest of them would never send me a letter calling me a Mudblood.” Her features hardened. “Just because you made it a habit of being around bad people, doesn't mean everyone in the world would do something so awful. Especially my friends.”

Hermione stood up, angrily disentangling herself from the blanket that had fallen down from the back of the couch.

All of the words that Narcissa had learned in life failed her. Her mind worked furiously, trying to find something within the void to say, something to fix the situation. Another second passed and Hermione started for the door.

Narcissa reached out with one hand and said, desperately, “Hermione, wait!”

Hermione paused by the door, but only turned halfway around. Her shoulders slumped just as her chin raised defiantly. “The trouble is, Narcissa, I was really starting to enjoy our time together. I thought we could be...” She blushed.

“Hermione.”

“I've loved all of our time together. Painting, sitting on the beach. Tonight was the first night that I really remembered we were on opposing sides during the war. I can't think that my friends would stoop to that sort of behavior and if you think that of them, I worry what you think about me. Goodnight.”

Hermione let herself out and carefully closed the door behind her.

On the couch, Narcissa's lungs burned. Her heart beat painfully fast. She'd ruined it all. How had she done that? By hitting a nerve, she thought. By speaking before thinking. Of course Hermione didn't think her friends sent the letter. Narcissa had been surprised by the actions of her own friends and family. People do things all the time you never thought them capable of. That didn't mean Hermione was ready to consider the possibility that the letter had originated from her friends.

“Right good job there, madam,” said the knight in the painting sadly. 

“Shut up.”

Narcissa slouched down on the couch, not bothering to get up and lock the door. She was too despondent to get up. She thought fleetingly about the ruined paintings on the porch. That act of vandalism had been meant to startle her, but now after some time had passed, she wasn't so sure that it was meant as a larger warning. Just like Hermione thought her nasty letter was a one-off. 

She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket over her. If someone meant to do her harm, if they meant to break in and attack her, let them.


	8. Chapter 8

Narcissa awoke with a splitting headache. Goosebumps covered her skin. She shivered and pulled the blanket up off the floor to cover herself. She opened one eye long enough to see that the fire had gone out and then shut it again, grimacing at the pain and intrusion of sunlight.

She'd mucked everything up. She remembered it all, uncertain if that was a blessing or a curse. It should have been easy to shrug her shoulders and think that it didn't matter. Hermione Granger was one woman, someone that she shouldn't have attempted any sort of friendship with. One out of many who, when Narcissa had first come to Autrey Island, she'd been ready to ignore for the rest of her life. And yet her heart ached. It wouldn't be easy to forget about Hermione at all.

Narcissa stayed on the couch, shivering beneath the blanket, drifting in and out of sleep for hours. One time that she woke up, she thought, distantly, that it was strange that a house elf hadn't woken her with fresh coffee. Perhaps one had tried, or saw the state she was in, which would certainly be quite a sight, and had left her to sleep it off. Though she didn't make a habit of drinking until she was hungover, her own house elves would have responded in that way. She turned over and fell back asleep.

When Narcissa finally woke up and was ready to get up, her hangover had dulled and her sadness was muted. Everything that had happened seemed silly, the result of too much drinking on both their parts. If she could only get Hermione to see it like that, Narcissa might be able to fix it, after all.

A small part of her, though, still worried that it might not all turn out okay.

She folded up the blanket and set it back across the top of the couch. Through the window, she saw the sun beginning to set. It'd been so long since she missed an entire day. Since the war and the ensuing trials. She'd thought she was done with all that.

It didn't bother her that a house elf still didn't greet her. The solitude suited her and her appetite was nonexistent. She didn't feel like painting or doing much of anything. It was only for lack of anything to do that she bathed and dressed. Little acts that could pass the time.

She stood by the kitchen window, a cup of tea she'd made herself in hand, and watched the last rays of the sun disappear. The wind picked up, blowing the trees around the cottage to and fro. It wasn't going to be a quiet night by the look of it. Clouds were moving in. A storm. Narcissa couldn't bring herself to care much. Rain began to fall, quickly turning into a torrential downpour.

She set her empty cup down on the table right as a knock came from the door. She paused, unsure that she'd heard correctly, but then she heard another knock.

Narcissa swept through the cabin to the door and asked, “Who's there?”

“It's me.”

Narcissa let out a shaky breath and opened the door.

Hermione's clothes were soaked through. Drops fell from the wet ends of her hair. She bit her lip nervously. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Narcissa said, stepping aside so that Hermione could pass. She closed the door, muting the sound of rain and thunder. “Are you okay? You look worried.”

“I am worried. About a few things. I was hasty last night. Drunk and angry. I still don't think Ron or Harry or anyone else would have sent that letter, but I understand why you said what you did.”

Narcissa resisted the urge to smile or take Hermione's hand. She leaned back against the wooden front door, waiting for Hermione to add something more, something that would feel like a devastating blow.

A puddle began to form around Hermione's feet. The wind outside grew in intensity.

“You don't know them like I do,” Hermione continued. “And why would you? Anyway, I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.” She smiled crookedly. “I think, if you're agreeable, it might be best to ignore that last night happened. I shouldn't have been so quick to jump on the defensive. I've enjoyed our time together. I don't want to throw all of that away over a disagreement.”

“Of course,” said Narcissa. She hadn't been forced to grovel, something that, deep down inside, she'd been prepared to do.

Hermione swallowed. A drop of rain fell from her hair and slid down her cheek. “And, if you're agreeable, I'd like to do something that I wanted to do last night.”

It felt as if time slowed down. Narcissa's heart beat sluggishly in her chest. It quickened at the sound of Hermione's words and the way she took a tentative step toward her. She must have nodded or done something that Hermione took for encouragement, because then she was close, very close, and Narcissa's eyes slipped closed as she kissed her softly.

Hermione pulled away by a centimeter. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Narcissa breathed, pulling Hermione to her again.

Outside, the rain continued to pound against the roof. Lightning lit up the sky every few seconds. Thunder growled overhead.

Narcissa barely noticed the bad weather outside. Hermione was soft, so soft. Narcissa felt light, like she might fly away at any moment. Had she ever felt so happy kissing someone before? She pulled Hermione even closer, trying to get her as close as possible.

“You're positively drenched,” Narcissa whispered. “You'll get sick.”

“That's what you're thinking about right now?” complained Hermione.

They were both breathless.

“Come on. We need to get you out of those clothes.”

Narcissa took Hermione's hand in hers and led her to the bedroom. With every step, she prayed that Hermione wouldn't change her mind and leave the cabin, leave her.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, Hermione pulled her wet jacket and the rest of her clothes off. She looked Narcissa in the eye, standing naked in the middle of the room. 

“You're beautiful,” said Narcissa.

As if she'd said a secret command, Hermione walked to her, over by the bed, and kissed her again. With careful, gentle hands, she pulled Narcissa's robes off of her.

“You're beautiful too,” she said.

Another streak of lightning lit up the room, causing them both to jump. Hermione recovered a second later and guided Narcissa back onto the bed.

“Gorgeous,” Hermione commented, then began kissing her way down Narcissa's body. She stopped at her breasts, lavishing attention on them until Narcissa moaned and her hips lifted up into the air, begging for Hermione to move on. Obediently, she moved further down, kissing Narcissa's stomach.

“Please,” Narcissa breathed.

Hermione let out a gasp at hearing Narcissa's soft plea and moved the last few inches to her center.

It was better than anything Narcissa could remember. Better than chocolate, better than wine. Her fingers ran through Hermione's hair, clutching at her scalp as the pleasure mounted. Within minutes, Narcissa could feel her climax coming. Her legs shook, the world stilled, and all thoughts left her.

Hermione took her time kissing her way back up. When she reached her lips, Narcissa kissed her greedily, loving the taste of herself.

“My turn,” Narcissa said huskily.


	9. Chapter 9

Narcissa hadn't smiled so easily in what felt like years, if ever. It didn't matter that the storm outside still raged on. Inside her cottage, it was warm in bed with her arms wrapped around Hermione. There might be repercussions later, people unhappy with their new relationship whether due to their status as actors on opposing sides during the war or simply due to the age difference. With the warm feeling settling in her chest, Narcissa didn't care about the future. Not the opinions of others that would come, at least.

Hermione was turned on one side, facing away from Narcissa. She ran her fingers along Narcissa's arm, which was draped over her. “I wasn't completely honest,” she said, breaking the silence between them.

Narcissa kissed her bare shoulder. “About what?”

“About my Ministry-sponsored research project.”

“You said it was boring. Numbers and taxes.”

“Mostly,” said Hermione. “The official objective is to bring some kind of order to all the documents I've brought with me. The last group in charge of them didn't keep very good records. Not for this sort of thing, anyway. My second objective, known to only a few, is to find anyone trying to use loopholes. Not paying all of their taxes, secret properties.”

“People like my ex-husband. You're specifically targeting the rich people who weren't sent to Azkaban, aren't you?”

Hermione cringed. “Yes.”

Narcissa kissed her shoulder blade again. “I have nothing to hide. You're free to look through all of my accounts.”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“I was on your list, was I not? How could I not be? Maybe I was listed under Lucius. I'm sure your list was created while we were still married, before it all became public. I don't expect special treatment now. Had Mr. Potter failed, in the end, the Dark Lo—Voldemort, might have done the same thing, if someone had told him that it was a good idea.”

Hermione sighed. “There's one more thing. Something Kingsley told me to check specifically. Unofficially. A lot of people on Voldemort's side, or thought to be on his side, weren't tried and their bodies were never found. If I happened to find something that might lead to them, a forgotten home passed down through family lines, he wanted me to make note of it so that the Aurors could check.”

“That's quite the task to give one person,” said Narcissa. “But I can also see his reasoning. If too many people found out, someone might tip off anyone in hiding. It might cause fear within Britain.”

“You're okay with all of this?” asked Hermione. She tensed.

“Hermione, I have nothing to hide. I promise. And, after everything, it would serve Lucius right if he was caught not keeping his nose clean.”

Hermione turned over to face Narcissa, caressing her pale cheek and kissing her. “That's a relief. I'd felt awful, getting close to you, knowing that at some point I'd have to stop putting off looking into you. I had trouble sleeping some nights because of it.”

“You silly, silly woman,” Narcissa said affectionately.

Outside the cottage, a loud burst of thunder caused them both to jump. Lightning occurred with such frequency that, if Narcissa looked out the window, it was easy to see out, almost like an eerie version of daylight.

Perhaps it was an ill omen to embark on a new relationship during a raging storm, but Narcissa had never paid much attention to omens or bad luck. 

“Do you think it can stay like this?” Hermione asked, after a minute of silence. She traced along Narcissa's collarbone gently. “Peaceful. Happy.”

Narcissa didn't know if she meant the world or their current situation. Neither seemed likely to stay exactly as it was. “Yes,” she said. “If we work hard.”

“It's nice to think that, isn't it?”

At the window, something looked inside.

\----------

“I think I saw Bob peeking in my window this morning,” said Hermione.

They'd gotten dressed and moved to the couch. For the first time that day, Narcissa tended to the fireplace. The cottage was still chilly and they sat with the blanket draped over their laps.

“Really? Did you say something to him? That'd be cause for a formal complaint.”

Hermione's words were distant to Narcissa. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she was too happy to go into fix-it mode. Any other night, she might have leapt from the couch, looking for a quill and parchment to begin the first draft of a scathing letter.

“By the time I made it to the door, he was gone. After that, I convinced myself that I was mistaken. That I either hadn't seen him at all or that there was a perfectly harmless reason. Maybe he was checking on me while trying not to disturb me.”

“Privacy is everything on Autrey Island,” Narcissa recited.

“That is what the brochure said.” Hermione smiled. “I was so busy today, worrying about what to say to you mostly, that I didn't notice for hours that something was off. You see, I prepare my own meals, but the house elves still come for my laundry. Right before I made my way over in the storm, I realized that they hadn't come today. And Bob hadn't looked happy when I saw him in the window. He looked grumpy or dissatisfied. It was hard to tell past his tangle of black hair. I don't think he likes me much at all. Do you think he might have told the house elves not to come?”

Narcissa considered it for a moment. Bob didn't seem to like either of them. But would he tell the house elves not to do their duty just because of his own personal feelings?

“The house elves never came here either,” she said. “It took me some time to notice as well. I didn't have much of an appetite today. If that's what Bob has done, I'll be sure to get to the bottom of it. If it wasn't storming, I'd go over and talk to him right now. Somehow, I don't think he would care much if I sent him a note.”

“I'm not sure he's home,” commented Hermione. She stretched her arms over her head and sighed. 

“What do you mean?”

“Just before twilight, I went on a walk to clear my head. The wind wasn't so bad yet. Have you noticed there's always smoke coming from his chimney? But there wasn't any. I thought maybe he left for some reason.”

“Or the fire wasn't tended to by the house elves, just like mine,” said Narcissa.

“But if he told the house elves not to come to us today, would he tell them to ignore himself as well?” prodded Hermione. “Bob might be a lot of things, but I don't think he's that much of a rational schemer. He wouldn't make himself uncomfortable to mess with us, would he?”

“I don't know, Hermione. People do strange things all the time. I'll visit him in the morning and get to the bottom of it. For now, I want to enjoy this moment.” Narcissa put her arm around Hermione's thin shoulders. It was amazing how such a small gesture could be so satisfying. Soon, she decided, she would finish that painting of Hermione and give it to her.

Outside, a loud bang cut through the torrential rain and gusts of wind. Hermione jumped up, threw the blanket off of herself, grabbed her wand and started for the door.

“Wait, Hermione!” called Narcissa. “We don't know what that was!”

“Come on,” said Hermione, not slowing down at all.

Narcissa cursed and ran to her bedroom, where she'd left her wand. By the time she got back to the front door and threw a cloak over herself, Hermione was out of sight.

Gripping her wand tightly, Narcissa gazed all around her. Trees swayed with the strong force of the wind. She drew up the hood of her cloak in the vain hope that it would protect her from the rain. Within a minute, she was drenched. With no sign of Hermione, she took a chance and started toward Hermione's cottage, and farther on, Bob's.

She jumped as lightning flashed around her. There seemed to be shadows all around her, following her, mocking her. A trick of the eye, distracting her from her goal. She had to find Hermione and make sure she was safe. Safe from what, Narcissa didn't know.

She paused at Hermione's cottage, but the door was shut and there didn't seem to be anyone inside. Smoke drifted skyward from the chimney. A small branch from a nearby tree fell to the hard ground.

Narcissa pushed on, ignoring the uneasiness she felt from the situation. The lightning seemed to be close by. The thunder was shockingly loud. While Narcissa had not been the type of child to huddle under her covers on nights when it stormed, she'd always had what she considered a healthy fear of Mother Nature and her wrath. Being outside during such stormy weather was not something Narcissa would normally do.

“Hermione!” she called. She listened carefully, slowing down to concentrate. 

There was no answer.

Finally, Bob's cottage came into view. A tree in front had been hit by lightning and was smoldering.

Narcissa ineffectually wiped at her face, but the rain continued to pelt her. The front door of Bob's home was open, she saw. She crept closer, walking up the steps of his porch with her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She held her wand out in front of her, whispered the spell to create enough light to see.

Inside, Hermione stood over Bob's prone body. Her wand was out, pointed at him. A puddle of blood surrounded his lifeless body. His eyes stared, unseeing, up at the ceiling. His mouth hung open in a silent scream.

Barely able to think, Narcissa pointed her own wand at Hermione, who turned, finally, to look at her with wide eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

The dead left at Hogwarts had been nothing to Narcissa during the battle. She didn't notice which side the fallen were on as she searched with Lucius for Draco. It was only after, when she was guiding Draco away from the bloodied school, that she really saw the corpses that littered the ground. She'd looked at them with steel eyes, unable to fully comprehend what it all meant. Her duties as a mother weren't over, would never be over, and all she wanted was to get Draco away from there.

Seeing Bob was different. She saw every gruesome detail. Horribly, despite the time she'd spent with Hermione, she wondered if she was to blame for the gore she now witnessed.

“Narcissa,” Hermione said quietly, eyes trained on Narcissa's wand.

Narcissa couldn't look at her. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Bob's face, the terrible puddle of blood beneath his body.

But why would Hermione do something like this? What would be the point?

“Narcissa, look at me,” Hermione tried again.

With some effort, Narcissa looked away from Bob toward Hermione's ashen face. If she'd committed the murder, she was a terrific actress, one of the best that Narcissa had ever seen and she'd seen many.

“I know what it looks like. I didn't do this. You have to believe me,” Hermione pleaded.

“There's only three of us on the island,” said Narcissa dumbly.

Hermione took a step, stopped when Narcissa's wand didn't lower. “If we follow that train of thought, it could have been either of us. We weren't together all day long. One of us could have done it this afternoon. But I didn't do it. And I don't believe you did either.” She swallowed. “Which means someone else is on the island.”

The blood beneath Bob was fresh, Narcissa wanted to say. It hadn't been done that morning. The lightning striking the tree outside might have been the sound that pulled them away from Narcissa's comfortable couch. And then, Hermione had run out...

“How would someone accomplish that? Security is supposed to be impeccable here. It's one of their selling points. No one unauthorized should be able to get here, Hermione.”

“Exactly,” said Hermione. She tucked her wand into her back pocket. “So either someone with authorization did this or someone powerful decided to make a point. Right?”

They both jerked as a flash of lightning lit up the room.

“What I don't understand,” Hermione continued, “is why Bob? He wasn't the most friendly guy, but he's just a caretaker. Unless he wasn't the real target.”

“Do you know something you're not saying?”

“Narcissa, put your wand away. Please. Let's talk this through together.”

Narcissa's arm shook. Was she prepared to hit Hermione with a spell? Could she do that after their time together? She hadn't felt such hesitance in awhile.

Though she wasn't sure if it was the right decision, Narcissa slowly lowered her wand.

“Good,” breathed Hermione. “That's good. Before we get ahead of ourselves, I think we should check a few things out. There's nothing we can do for Bob. Maybe he had an owl somewhere? Or maybe the fireplace is set up to the FLOO Network. I'll check that if you'll look for an owl.”

Narcissa looked around them. There was nothing in the small room that led her to believe an owl was kept there. She peeked in the kitchen and the bedroom, but found no evidence of an owl. As Hermione knelt down to look at the fireplace, Narcissa headed back out into the torrential rain to look in Bob's shed.

She thought she heard someone running and spun, gazing all around, but spotted no one. Fear creeping up on her, she made the journey to the shed and threw open the door. Two barn owls lay slaughtered on the floor. Blood and feathers surrounded the poor creatures. It was almost worse than Bob. At least he might have had a fighting chance. The owls were innocents.

Not wanting to look at the hideous scene any longer, Narcissa closed the shed and returned to the doorway of Bob's cabin.

Hermione rose from the fireplace with a grim expression. “No luck. What about you?”

“Two owls dead.”

They both shivered.

“Let's get out of here,” Hermione said softly.

She'd taken two steps when a loud pop outside could be heard over the sound of thunder and rain.

Narcissa's head whipped around, but she couldn't see anything. Hermione was quickly beside her and, without thinking, Narcissa grabbed onto her, halting her progress. “Wait,” she said.

“That was someone disapparating!” Hermione protested.

“They're gone,” said Narcissa. “Whoever it was. There's no point in running out there looking for someone who isn't there. We should head back.”

Hermione nodded. “We'll go to my cabin. It's closer.”

Narcissa started down the steps of Bob's porch, pausing as Hermione closed Bob's front door. The rain pounded on them as they began walking back toward Hermione's cottage. Both put their hoods up and kept their heads bent down to protect their faces from the rain. It did little for them.

They were quiet along the way. The storm around them would have forced them to nearly shout to be heard.

Narcissa couldn't get the image of Bob out of her head. Whoever had done it was not someone she wanted to ever meet, but, she worried, maybe she didn't have a choice in that matter. 

On the top of Narcissa's list of suspects was Ronald Weasley. He was a hero to many and he worked for the Ministry. How easy would it be to bend the rules for him? No doubt many would instantly offer him help, no matter what it was that he wanted done.

Draco had told her that many of the Weasley children had tempers. It seemed possible that Weasley had taken his break-up with Hermione so badly that he intended to terrorize her, maybe even do her harm. Narcissa didn't want to think about what lengths he might really go to. She swore to herself that she wouldn't let him do anything to Hermione.

Hermione ran up the stairs and quickly let them into her cottage. A fire burned in the fireplace. Hermione saw to some lanterns to give them light while Narcissa warred with herself about whether to tell Hermione her suspicions.

Hermione gasped.

Written in large letters on one wall, in what looked like blood, was MUDBLOOD.

Narcissa shuddered and wrapped her arms around Hermione. “Only a brute would write that.”

“What?” asked Hermione.

Narcissa felt Hermione's head move and then Hermione tensed.

“I didn't see that,” she said softly. “I meant my papers.”

Narcissa let go of Hermione and glanced around the room. The boxes full of Ministry documents had been upturned. Pages littered the floor and the couch. Some had been savagely ripped.

“I don't think we should stay here,” said Narcissa. “It doesn't feel safe. They might come back.”

Narcissa couldn't bring herself to say the name Weasley. If it started another fight, it wasn't worth it. If he made himself known, Narcissa would be there for her. She wouldn't say anything as crass as 'I told you so.' She would hold Hermione and love her. They just needed to get off this damn island before anything else happened.

“Okay,” agreed Hermione. “Let me get a bag together.”

Narcissa waited by the fire, her wand out again, while Hermione went into her bedroom to gather her things.

Weasley knew Hermione had planned to go to Autrey Island, Narcissa realized. He'd found out that Narcissa was there too and hadn't been able to control himself. He'd slashed her paintings. It all made sense.

“I'm ready,” said Hermione, her cheeks pale. She toyed with the sleeve of her jacket. She carried only a small bag. Much too small.

“That's everything you need?”

Hermione blushed. “It's been... modified...”

Narcissa smiled. “I won't tell anyone.”

Hermione took the time to lock up her cabin as if the culprit had not already broken in. Narcissa didn't say anything. She would have done the same. Some habits are hard to break.

Hermione trudged down the stairs and stopped beside Narcissa. She linked arms with her and they started for Narcissa's cabin. The rain seemed less incessant, the thunder and lightning more distant.

“Maybe I should go in first,” Narcissa said when they reached number 9.

“Two wands are better than one,” Hermione countered.

Narcissa had no rational argument against Hermione's point. She inclined her head and the two of them advanced to the door. With shaking fingers, suddenly aware that anything could greet them, Narcissa opened the door.

“Looks normal,” Narcissa breathed out.

“I'll check the kitchen. You check the bedroom,” Hermione ordered.

Obediently, with wand out, Narcissa went to her bedroom, peering into all the corners and even out the window. No one was outside. No one was lurking beneath the bed. Narcissa let out a sigh and lit the candle next to the bed. Beneath the candle was a note.

Narcissa took a step back, as if the note might explode in her face. She shook her head, feeling silly, and lifted the candle to get at the note. It read, simply: It'll all be over soon.

“What on earth,” muttered Narcissa.

The bedroom door creaked as Hermione pushed it open further to enter the room. “What was that?” she asked. “The kitchen looks fine. Did you find something?”

“A note,” said Narcissa. She held it out for Hermione to read.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she read the short note. Then, she looked at her with a grimness that startled Narcissa.

“Well, that's that,” she said. “I'd had my suspicions. This is too far though. Lucius can't get away with murder.”

“What?” Narcissa balked.

“This is so obviously the work of Lucius, Narcissa. He's had his fun in the papers, now he's coming after you. How would the public react if the horrible Narcissa Black, after breaking Lucius Malfoy's heart, got into a freak accident or was murdered? He's used Bob and now killed him because he can talk. After finding out that I'm here, he went the extra step to see what I was up to. If I had to guess, the papers that have information on him are either missing or ripped to shreds.” She waved the note in the air. “And this is him taunting you.”

“No,” said Narcissa. “This is the work of Ronald Weasley. My slashed paintings were collateral damage at first, but now I'm roped into it because of my involvement with you.”

Hermione glanced at the note in her hand. “Slashed paintings? Why would Ron write you this note? And this isn't his handwriting.”

“It's not Lucius's handwriting either.”

“Either someone was hired to write it or they took great pains to write differently,” said Hermione reasonably.

“You're not angry that I suspect Weasley?”

Hermione shrugged. “One of us will be proven right in the end. We have to stick together. More importantly, I want to stick with you. I meant what I said about enjoying our time together. Besides, I still have to work on getting you to read Muggle literature. I imagine you haven't cracked open that book of poetry yet.”

“Hermione, if we get out of this unscathed, I'll read all your Muggle literature.”


	11. Chapter 11

Narcissa dreamt that she was wandering the corridors of Hogwarts. It was late at night. No one disturbed the quiet. The paintings she passed were all asleep. She might be near the Astronomy Tower, she thought.

As if from a great distance, she heard a commotion echo down the halls. She began running toward the noise, feeling as she did so that she wasn't getting any closer. She ran faster. Her lungs burned, her muscles ached, and still she felt like she'd never reach the noise. Finally, right when she was ready to stop and give up the chase, Narcissa rounded a corner and saw a body laid out on the stone floor.

It was Voldemort, risen from the dead, with his wand pointed at the still body of Harry Potter.

Narcissa gasped. Her wand arm fell to her side.

Then, right as Voldemort turned to see who had joined him in the corridor, he morphed into Bellatrix. The sight of her wild hair was only a comfort for a moment as her gloating eyes landed on Narcissa. The body on the floor changed to that of their sister Andromeda.

“No,” breathed Narcissa.

Bellatrix's responding cackle was cut short.

Before Narcissa now was Lucius, stoney-faced. He did not gloat, just stared down at the body of his victim. It was worse than any of the others. Draco's beautiful eyes were open, staring vacantly up.

A scream ripped its way from Narcissa's throat as Rita Skeeter's malicious giggle echoed around them. She closed her eyes tightly.

“How about this?” called a voice.

Narcissa looked up in time to see Lucius fade and the arrogant smile of Ronald Weasley appear. She hated him instantly. 

She knew what she'd see if she looked down at the floor. It was like she had no control of her body, though, because she looked all the same. A betrayed expression was frozen on Hermione's beautiful face and a line of blood poured out one side of her mouth.

Narcissa fell to her knees and ignored the pain that shot through her legs. “It's too much,” she said. Tears blurred her vision. She didn't wipe them away. She stared down at the cracked stone floor, willing the body to change.

Narcissa barely reacted when her own corpse stared blankly at her. She did, however, glance up to see who had done the deed. Hermione stood there, her face a mask of concentration.

\----------

Narcissa awoke with a stiff neck. Her wand was still clutched in her hand. Hermione sat beside her, her eyes opening and closing rhythmically. The fire was going strong. Hermione must have kept an eye on it.

“Did you stay up all night?” asked Narcissa.

“Yes.” Hermione yawned. “Barely.”

Narcissa had meant to stay up with her. It had become clear to Narcissa that though she mentioned how useful pulling watch shifts with Ron and Harry was during the war, Hermione intended to do it all on her own if Narcissa fell asleep. Better to both be awake, she had thought. Sleep deprivation would have been preferable to Narcissa's nightmare.

“How did you sleep?”

“Terribly.” Narcissa rubbed at her face, feeling more awake with each passing second. “I'll go make us some tea.”

The images in Narcissa's dream continued to haunt her while she boiled water. Each had been traumatic in its own way. It had all seemed so real. The worst, by miles, had been Draco and Hermione. A lump formed in her throat upon realizing that seeing Hermione like that had been as upsetting as seeing her son's dead body.

“Just need to get off this damn island,” muttered Narcissa. “And then take it slow.”

Hermione smiled gratefully when she returned with their tea. “I didn't have any all night. I was scared I'd wake you up if I moved.”

“You should have woken me up,” Narcissa said. She took a sip of her tea and moved her neck around, frowning at the stiffness there. “Don't ever grow old, Hermione. You wake up with stiff joints and muscles for no good reason.”

“You're not old. And, anyway, you can wake up with a stiff neck at any age if you sleep like you did.”

Narcissa didn't argue. What was the point? She was happy enough drinking her tea next to Hermione.

She tried not to think about the fact that there was a psychotic murderer somewhere out there. Maybe they weren't on Autrey Island right at that moment, but they could return whenever they wanted while Hermione and she were sitting ducks.

“Did you try to apparate again?” she asked.

“Still nothing.”

Narcissa set her tea down. “I don't think Lucius would know how to mess with all of these things. FLOO Network, maybe, but tampering with apparation? He's not that good.”

“Neither is Ron.” Hermione sighed. “But they both would be able to find someone to help, wouldn't they?”

“Yes, I suppose they would.”

Narcissa let her tea grow cold. Hermione's arm was warm against her own. 

Outside, the rain continued to fall. The storm was in a lull.

\----------

Narcissa had been nervous on her wedding night. The wedding itself was nothing short of enchanting. Her dress was the most beautiful she'd laid eyes on and her parents both looked proud as she stood in front of everyone and joined hands with Lucius. 

She had not been told to marry Lucius, but she was aware that he had been invited to her home more than any other boy around her age. Narcissa read between the lines. Here, her parents were trying to say, is a man who is a great match for our daughter.

Andromeda was already gone by then. Narcissa did not entertain the childish thought that her sister might sneak in to see Narcissa's big day. If Andromeda showed, there would be trouble. If their father didn't get to her, Bellatrix would.

Lucius was serious all through the ceremony. He didn't smile until it was over and guests surrounded them to offer congratulations.

Bellatrix sidled up to Narcissa. “You could have done worse for yourself. The Dark Lord approves.”

Narcissa shivered. She wasn't afraid of the Dark Lord, not yet. It was the intensity in Bellatrix's voice when she spoke his name that unnerved her.

Later, when she and Lucius left their guests to finish their drinking and dancing, Lucius led her up the stairs of Malfoy Manor toward the bedrooms. The memory clung to her. It was the first time she entered as Lady of the Manor.

Lucius stopped in front of a bedroom. “This will be yours.”

“Are we not spending the night together?” Narcissa asked.

Lucius smiled. “Of course. But on other nights, when we need time to ourselves, this is where you will stay.”

Narcissa peeked into the bedroom. The windows were covered by crimson curtains. The bed was lifted high off the floor. A book lay on the table next to it. The next night she would pick it up and discover that it was a Transfiguration book.

As Lucius led her to his bedroom, with her heart in her throat, she felt as if she'd done something wrong. Her own parents had not taken separate bedrooms until she was five.

Bellatrix and her husband had separate bedrooms, but they operated in a way that disturbed Narcissa. There was something feral about them. She did not want that sort of relationship with Lucius.

The paintings of past Malfoys appraised her as they walked further down the dark hall. They did not speak out, for which she was thankful.

A sword hung on the wall outside of Lucius's bedroom. It was the most impressive weapon Narcissa had seen in a private home. Though it was clean and sharp, she thought she could almost see all the blood it had taken dripping off of it. It looked old enough to have been around for centuries. So when she felt a whisper in her mind, warning her that one false step in her new position as a Malfoy would lead to the sword severing her head from her neck, she believed it.

Love and trust from Lucius, letting her own guard down, that would come much, much later.

\----------

Hermione sat, alert, on the couch. It reminded Narcissa of a soldier waiting on a signal to act.

Narcissa did not feel as alert, even though she'd gotten some rest. The adrenaline from earlier had left her body and, now, when she closed her eyes, she saw only the mess in Bob's home.

“When we get out of this,” Hermione said, “I'd like another vacation. One without work.”

“You're welcome to stay at my new home,” offered Narcissa. “I've got to work on the furniture arrangements still, but it's roomy. You could do anything you like there.”

“I'd like that.”

Narcissa was not sure that they would both get out of their predicament. It seemed highly unlikely. The culprit already murdered one person, had blocked any chance of getting away. The best outcome, Narcissa realized with a start, was if it was Lucius, intent on coming after her. Maybe, just maybe, he'd kill only her and Hermione could leave with her life.

That thought unnerved Narcissa. It was too soon to feel that way about Hermione. To put Hermione's life above her own. And yet, the thought felt as honest to Narcissa as the moment she decided to divorce Lucius.

As if she could hear inside Narcissa's mind, Hermione said, “We will get out of this, you know. I've been in situations worse than this.”

“Of course,” Narcissa said curtly.

The sun peeked through the gray clouds in the early morning. The absence of bird song was unsettling.

Narcissa made more tea and stared out of the kitchen window while she waited for the water to boil. She scanned the landscape. Her wand was held ready in her hand. She jerked, seeing something move in her periphery. It was only a squirrel.

She returned with two cups and smiled fondly at Hermione's sleeping form on the couch. She was awake when Narcissa went to make the tea.

Narcissa set Hermione's cup on the mantel and then sat down next to her as softly as possible. No matter what she said, she needed sleep as much as Narcissa did.

In sleep, Hermione looked peaceful. The line between her eyebrows that appeared when she was concentrating was flat and smooth. There was no outward sign of the things she had been through, the things she had seen. Eventually, Narcissa knew, time would catch up with her just as it caught up with everyone. Hermione would be just as beautiful then.

Narcissa felt useless, sitting and waiting for something to happen. Wandering around the island alone seemed like a ludicrous idea. Only someone with a death wish would do that. Instead, when she finished her tea, she got up from the couch and looked for a quill and parchment. In her best hand, she left a message for the villain terrorizing them.

“Come after me only.”

She left the note on the porch, beneath a stone she found on the ground. She hoped it would reach the eyes of the culprit, and as she started back for the door, she felt a certainty within herself that it would. 

Hermione blinked at her as she stepped back into the cabin. Her hair was wild from sleep, her cheek pink from resting on it. “Where'd you go?”

“I was outside on the porch. I was gone only for a minute. Don't worry.”

Hermione frowned. She spotted her cup of tea on the mantel and rose to retrieve it. She cringed as she took a sip.

“I'll make you a fresh cup.” Narcissa gently took the cup from Hermione's hands and kissed her on the cheek. “I have a feeling we're going to have another interesting night.”

Outside, the sun continued to beat down on the island. In the distance, more storm clouds rolled towards it.


	12. Chapter 12

It was four months into her marriage with Lucius when he came home from Diagon Alley with a sneer. He had not invited her and Narcissa was content to stay in the Malfoy library. There were so many old scrolls and tomes to read. They would keep her busy for years.

“Perhaps you should have come, after all,” he said from the doorway.

Narcissa let the book she held fall to her lap. She waited for him to continue.

“I saw your traitorous sister.”

A few years before, Narcissa's first response would have been to ask how she looked. Narcissa did not forget the love she'd held for Andromeda as easily as Bellatrix and her parents had. By then, though, that response did not enter her mind at all.

“All the more reason not to have gone,” she said without emotion.

Lucius smiled. She had passed the test.

\----------

Narcissa thought about killing Lucius. She had not studied the Dark Arts like Bellatrix had. She didn't know the spells that would cause the most pain. If she wanted, she thought, she could tie him up and torture him without her wand. Was he worth dirtying her hands in that way? When she looked at Hermione, brooding in the quiet, she thought that maybe he was.

That wouldn't make her a better person. It might even make Hermione, who was so concerned with ethics and morality, look at her differently. The thought of Hermione looking at her like she was a monster settled the matter in Narcissa's mind. She would not torture Lucius, given the chance. But she would send a killing curse his way.

“It's starting to rain again,” Hermione said. Her face was inches from the window pane.

Closing the distance between them, Narcissa stood behind Hermione and set her hands on her shoulders. If only she could do that whenever she wanted after they left Autrey Island. If they left. It all seemed like wishful thinking.

“Narcissa, are you scared?”

It dawned on Narcissa that if anyone else asked her that question, she would lie through her teeth.

“Yes,” she answered. “I'm scared for you, for us, for me.”

Hermione twisted around to face Narcissa. She caressed her cheek down to her throat. “I'm scared too. But it would be worse without you here.”

“Hermione, I don't know what to do.”

Hermione tugged on her until she was forced to lean down. She kissed Narcissa with an intensity that left her breathless and her mind completely empty of worry and fear.

Narcissa closed her eyes and concentrated on nothing but Hermione and the wonderful moment.

On the other side of the window, a pair of eyes watched them. A gust of wind ripped Narcissa's note from the person's slack hand, carrying it away from the scene inside, the person waiting, and from what was still to come.

\----------

Lightning broke the quiet in the cabin.

“How are they doing this?” Narcissa wondered aloud. “Spells pertaining to weather and climate are not normally studied.”

“I've wondered the same,” said Hermione. “But can we say for sure that this person is causing the storm?”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione pushed her hair away from her face. “The brochure for Autrey Island advertised nice weather. There's no way to guarantee that unless there was already a charm on the island to keep bad weather away. The exact location of the island isn't disclosed. Is there not a possibility that these storms are natural and the charm has worn off? The problem, then, would be what happened to the original charm.”

“That could be a matter as simple as the owner neglecting to check on his handiwork,” said Narcissa.

Hermione stroked her chin, deep in thought. “Or the person who killed Bob might have gone after the owner, or whoever did the charm work, first. There would be no need to waste time on learning new spells if all they needed to do was break the original.”

Narcissa warmed her hands on her cup of tea. She had had no appetite for most of the day, even though Hermione had made them each a bowl of soup, but the act of boiling water and drinking tea was relaxing.

“I have a bad feeling about all of this,” said Hermione quietly. “I have a theory...”

“What is it, love?” Narcissa asked, blushing as she realized what she'd said.

Another streak of lightning illuminated the room. Thunder rumbled. Rain pelted the roof relentlessly. Gusts of wind whipped across the island with such force that the cabin groaned. Both Hermione and Narcissa tensed.

A second later, thunder boomed once again and the door of Narcissa's cottage was blown from its hinges.


	13. Chapter 13

It was dark in the cottage. The fire in the fireplace had been put out. Only one lantern was lit, and it was placed near the front door. It burned lowly, not giving enough light for Narcissa to see well.

She felt rope tied tightly around her wrists. One of the wooden beams that divided the cottage dug into her back. They'd knocked her out, she thought, taken away her wand and tied her to a beam. How had they snuck up on her and Hermione?

Hermione!

Narcissa squinted and felt her breath leave her when she saw Hermione tied to another beam a few feet away. Hermione's chin rested on her chest. Narcissa couldn't see how injured she was.

A giggle cut through the room, through the storm raging outside.

Narcissa froze. Every muscle in her body tensed. “But,” she whispered.

" _Lumos_."

The voice was husky. Two more lanterns were lit.

Narcissa cringed away from the illuminated face. What beauty had remained after her stay in Azkaban had left Bellatrix Lestrange in death. Her teeth were more rotted. One eye bulged like it was seconds away from falling out of its socket, the other closed to a slit. A gash left a hole in one cheek. Bellatrix's curly hair was greasy and thin in places where it had been ripped from the scalp.

“Cissy,” Bellatrix murmured. “I traveled so far to see you. You don't look happy to see me.”

“How?” Narcissa croaked. She struggled against her bonds. It was no use.

“You never believed in miracles, did you? No matter. A young man came across my body at Hogwarts. I was dreadfully close to dying. I was ready for it. What better way to go than while fighting for my master?” Bellatrix's voice turned sultry as she referred to Voldemort. “The young man experimented until I was something close to alive again. It took a long time. When I was ready, I killed him for his trouble and set off to look for the one person I could trust. You.”

A chill crept up Narcissa's spine. Part of her wanted to deny what she saw in front of her. It was impossible for her sister to be there. But Bellatrix's remains had never been given to her. The Ministry had said that there wasn't enough for a proper burial. Narcissa had not asked about the option of cremation. She'd been ready to put it all behind her.

“You turned against Him,” Bellatrix continued. “I heard all about it from my friend. You're a blood traitor.” She glanced at Hermione's still form. “You're even more of a blood traitor than I thought. You're worse than our dear sister. At least she could claim youthful stupidity. You, however, should know better. And with this mudblood?”

“Leave her out of this,” Narcissa pleaded. “She has nothing to do with it. This is between you and me.”

Bellatrix tapped her chin with one finger. The nail was long and sharp. “Really? You surprise me, Cissy. You and Draco always came first before. You'd even choose yourself over me. Tell me, do you think it's love with the mudblood?”

“Bellatrix, please.”

Bellatrix's eyes widened. “You do! How disgraceful.” She sighed dramatically. “I hadn't planned on killing you when this all started. I thought, stupidly, that we could be together again. I'd have to keep myself hidden from the world, of course, but it all seemed like it would be easy when I heard of your divorce. Congratulations, by the way. I never did like Lucius. Now, there seems to be nothing left to do but end this.”

Narcissa shivered. Bellatrix had said something similar to her years ago in Bellatrix's bedroom. While their parents entertained guests downstairs, Bellatrix gathered all of her possessions that reminded her of Andromeda and theatrically set it all aflame. Since neither of them were in contact with Andromeda, it had been the most Bellatrix could do. A ceremonial killing of the memory of Andromeda. Nothing left to do but end it.

Bellatrix waved her wand and Narcissa felt her restraints fall away. She rubbed her wrists and glanced over at Hermione. Her chin was still tucked in to her chest, but Narcissa thought that her breathing might have changed. At least, for the moment, Hermione was alive.

If Narcissa had her wand, she'd curse her sister. There'd be no indecision. That thought made her pause for a second, before she was filled with grim determination. If she had the chance, she would take it. Blood be damned.

“Cissy, come here.” Bellatrix pointed to the couch that Narcissa and Hermione had sat on together. Bellatrix had seen them together there, Narcissa knew now.

She took measured steps over toward Bellatrix and, chin held high, sat down. She looked away from her sister, over to the painting on the wall. The knight there was staring at the scene in front of him. He'd dropped the head he had waved at her before. He hadn't spoken since Bellatrix had made herself known.

She preferred looking at him, the gawking knight, over the skeletal face of her sister. If she didn't look, it was almost easy to pretend it was the old Bellatrix. Or, if she didn't speak, she could pretend it wasn't Bellatrix at all. Narcissa didn't know which she would prefer.

“I saw Lucius, you know,” said Bellatrix. “I thought I'd have to get your whereabouts out of him by force. Turns out I didn't even have to grace him with my presence. One of the house elves was quick to tell me where you were. It remembered me. It hadn't forgotten me.”

“I didn't forget you,” Narcissa said uncomfortably.

Bellatrix paced in front of her. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor. Narcissa's answer seemed to only serve to agitate her further. She twisted and pointed her wand at Hermione. " _Crucio_."

Hermione screamed and her body tensed and coiled into itself.

“Stop it!” Narcissa cried and launched herself at Bellatrix, not caring that she didn't have a wand.

Bellatrix fell beneath Narcissa's weight. They crashed to the floor, their limbs tangled.

Adrenaline surged through Narcissa and she grabbed at Bellatrix's wand. 

It was not Bellatrix's old wand. That wand had been destroyed after the war. The wand belonged to the boy who had brought Bellatrix back. A parting gift she had taken for herself.

Bellatrix's sharp nails dug into Narcissa's cheeks, scratching and clawing.

Narcissa kept her grip on the wand, ignoring all of the pain. If only she could get the wand away from Bellatrix. If she could do that, she might be able to save them.

A few feet away, Hermione shook from the after-effects of the curse. Sweat dotted her forehead. Her lips were dry.

“Cissy,” Bellatrix shrieked. She pulled her hand back and slashed at Narcissa's face with her nails, catching Narcissa under her eye. She grinned savagely as Narcissa's eyes teared up and, involuntarily, her grip on the wand loosened.

Bellatrix wrenched the wand free and pointed it at her sister. “How could you.” She aimed the wand and sent a curse at Narcissa that had Narcissa sprawled on the floor in a second.

Narcissa gritted her teeth. Blood poured from her shoulder.

Bellatrix watched with interest as Narcissa brought a hand up to touch the wound. Seeing that she was distracted, Bellatrix stood up and stomped over to Hermione. “I've lost all patience for this,” she muttered.

“Good,” Hermione said.

“What was that, girl?” 

Hermione gazed up at Bellatrix. Her lips trembled but her eyes shone with fiery rage. “I said, good.”

Narcissa managed to kneel with one hand staunching the bleeding in her shoulder. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, that would get Bellatrix to turn away from Hermione. Before she could utter a syllable, Hermione flung an arm out and she saw steel glinting in the light of the cabin.

Bellatrix howled and stumbled back a pace.

Hermione lunged, tackling Bellatrix to the ground, her knife steady. With her free hand, she held Bellatrix down at the shoulder.

“No,” cried Bellatrix. “No, no.”

Narcissa shuffled closer to the pair. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Bellatrix's arm move. Bellatrix pointed the wand at Hermione again.

“Hermione!” warned Narcissa.

As Bellatrix opened her mouth to say a spell, Hermione blindly slashed at her arm. The spell died in Bellatrix's throat and became an anguished cry. The wand fell from Bellatrix's hand.

Ignoring the shooting pain in her shoulder, Narcissa scrambled across the floorboards and reached for the wand.

Bellatrix snarled like a feral animal, clawing at Hermione despite her pain. As Narcissa's fingers closed around the wand, Bellatrix connected hard with Hermione's face.

Hermione slumped back, wounded but conscious.

“Bellatrix,” Narcissa growled.

Bellatrix's wild eyes left Hermione and focused on Narcissa and the wand pointed straight at her. “You wouldn't kill your own sister.”

Time seemed to pause. Narcissa could hear nothing else but the ringing in her ears. She'd made a conscious decision in her youth not to follow the same path as Bellatrix. She didn't want to follow Voldemort like Bellatrix did, even if she understood the blood politics behind it. A lot of good that had done all of them. But because she hadn't followed the same path, she'd never killed anyone.

Narcissa's hand shook.

Victory bloomed on Bellatrix's face.

“I'll do it,” Hermione offered.

Narcissa shook her head without taking her eyes off Bellatrix's grotesque face. “Wouldn't I, Bellatrix?” she said finally. She hoped the wand would listen. She hoped it with every fiber of her being.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've drawn more inspiration from the books than the movies and I think that's most obvious with this chapter, as the villain would be unable to appear if I went by what happened in the movies.


	14. Chapter 14

Narcissa dropped the foreign wand as if it had burned her. She'd felt it pulling as she cast the Killing Curse, like it didn't want her to aim at Bellatrix. It hadn't wanted to do her bidding. But it had worked. Bellatrix's body was still and lifeless on the floor. Dead, mercifully dead, finally.

She felt hands on her face, gentle and warm, and looked up into Hermione's relieved face.

“It's over,” Hermione said. "You're safe. We're both safe now. Talk about being only half-right. I thought it might be a rogue Death Eater, someone close to the old cause, but I didn't think it'd be her. I never thought..." She swallowed, effectively stopping her nervous murmuring. "I'm sorry, Narcissa."

Narcissa felt sick. Guilt rolled deep in her stomach. It had been all her fault, after all. The hell that had descended on the island was because of her. As much as Bellatrix didn't like to forget the past, there was the possibility that she might have left Hermione alone had she not seen Narcissa with her. 

She heaved, but there was nothing in her stomach.

“Is it really over?” asked the knight in the painting. His voice trembled.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She ran her hands over Narcissa's back. Then, she stopped, and looked at the painting. “I hadn't thought of it until now... Can you alert someone?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so. I can tell Matilda Boggs and she can alert—Nevermind. You don't need all the details.”

Narcissa distantly heard the clanging of the knight's armor as he walked out of his painting. She couldn't take her eyes off of Bellatrix's corpse. She looked even less like herself in actual death. Behind the bones and gray skin was an expression of unbridled fear. That was unexpected. Despite all of her talk, Bellatrix feared death.

Narcissa had not gone to Bellatrix's trial. The thought of going had set her on edge, made her shake so much that she could do nothing but sit down and ask a house elf for a cup of tea. Bellatrix had been steadfast then. The Dark Lord would rise again, would save her from Azkaban. It would all be worth it in the end. Voldemort couldn't save her from death though. He hadn't been able to save himself from it either.

“Narcissa,” Hermione said gently. “We should get ready. There will be Aurors crawling around here soon. The papers will get wind of it. Part of it is over, but there's still so much to come.” She took Narcissa's hand and kissed her knuckles. “We'll have to stick together. If you want.”

Numbly, Narcissa stared at Hermione. Blood seeped from a cut beneath her eye. She looked strong, confident in herself. It made Narcissa wonder what she had seen during the war, the things that hadn't been published. She cleared her throat. “Of course.”

“I have to ask, you didn't know she was alive, did you?”

Narcissa cringed. “No. If you could call that alive.” She took no comfort from the caress Hermione rewarded her with.

If she had known, she wasn't sure what she would have done. She wouldn't have wanted that boy to experiment on Bellatrix's body. It would have been better if he had never found her, if she had been allowed to die back in the Great Hall. Narcissa worried she wouldn't have had the strength to tell the Ministry. No one had to know that though. It didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter at all.

“I was awake for most of it,” Hermione admitted. “Biding my time. I was lucky that I'd thought to hide that knife up my sleeve and lucky that your sister was only concerned with finding our wands. I wonder where she hid them.”

“Under the couch, I assume.” Narcissa smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. “Bellatrix always hid things under the couch when we were girls. I didn't think of it at the time. I was too...”

Hermione kissed her cheek and left her to look under the couch. She returned, handing Narcissa her wand and gripping her own as if she was scared to ever let it go again.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I wanted to say that before anyone else gets here.”

\----------

Narcissa stood in the dark study. The house elves had been instructed to bring tea every three hours and then to leave without making any noise. She often let the tea go cold without touching it.

She was intent on her newest painting.

In grays and blacks, she constructed the monster from the island. Gaunt face, hollow sunken eyes. She spent an exorbitant amount of time on that hole in the cheek. The lips were formed carefully into a snarl. It was easy for Narcissa. It was the face she saw when she slept.

Sometimes, it was a dream where Andromeda appeared too. Her sisters took turns pulling her heart out. Sometimes, Narcissa was chained to a stone wall and forced to watch as a faceless boy took a scalpel to Bellatrix's once beautiful face. Often, that scene would morph so that Bellatrix became the boy and Hermione was shackled to the table, screaming as Bellatrix carefully sliced at her skin. That one was the worst. Narcissa considered it a good night when she awoke, shaking and sweating, before Bellatrix finished and Hermione rose from the table looking nothing like herself at all.

She didn't dream about Lucius. He felt far away, like he was someone she had known a lifetime ago.

On the little table next to the easel was the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, unread. Next to it was a letter from Andromeda. It said only: It was her, wasn't it?

Narcissa had not looked in a mirror in weeks. Deep bags settled beneath her eyes, colored like a bruise. She wore loose robes, the easiest to put on of all her clothes with her stiff shoulder. 

She hadn't bothered to follow orders about its care and the wound had grown infected for a time. She was chastised by a young witch for that. She was advised it would be stiff for awhile longer, maybe forever, due to her refusal for more help. With her shoulder as it was, she hadn't bothered putting her hair up.

She closed her eyes and rubbed at them. When she opened them again, fear gripped her heart. It was only the painting, she reminded herself. As close as she was getting, it wasn't really Bellatrix.

She continued working far into the night, not noticing the passage of time. More cups of tea arrived and were left to grow cold.

Finally, well after midnight, Narcissa put the finishing touches on the painting. Once it was dry, she would add it to the others that lined the room. A row of Bellatrixes to stare at and taunt her.

Narcissa fell asleep on the sofa in the room. It was too small for her frame, but her bed was much too big. She hadn't been able to sleep for longer than a few hours at a time. Sleeping on the sofa, she could get up and get back to work as soon as her nightmares woke her up.

Like every night before, the last image that passed through her mind before sleep took her was Hermione's happy face, as she'd been on the beach.

She never had finished that painting of her.


	15. Chapter 15

The room looked like a den of obsession, Narcissa had to admit. The paintings of Bellatrix were enough to give off that impression, but there was also the blanket and pillow on the sofa, and the growing pile of Daily Prophets on the table. The tea cups were removed at the beginning of each day, replaced with a fresh cup. The only time she left the study was to use the restroom. She did manage to force herself to bathe and change clothes. She couldn't completely lose herself to this madness.

In an attempt to break out of her new habit, Narcissa spent the morning on a new painting. She wouldn't allow Bellatrix into it, not even in a small corner. Instead, she painted the trees on the island on that night she had gone running out to look for Hermione, minutes before they found Bob in his home.

She was running out of gray paint for the cloudy sky and black and browns for the claw-like branches of the trees.

Outside the room, a door slammed.

If Narcissa had been in her right mind, she would have dropped her paintbrush and snatched up her wand. No one else was in the house. The house elves were very good about keeping quiet. She could forget they were even in the house most of the time.

But Narcissa wasn't in her right mind. She continued painting and waited for whoever it was to find her. It didn't matter who it was.

“Mistress said no visitors,” a house elf squeaked in the hall.

The door was thrown open a second later.

Still, Narcissa continued to paint. She drew a line down the trunk of a tree. She'd add an owl perched atop one of the branches, she decided.

“So this is what you've been doing for the past month,” Hermione said.

Narcissa tensed. There was no anger in Hermione's voice, only understanding, and that made her feel guilty. The letters Hermione had sent during the first week after leaving Autrey Island were on the mantel of the fireplace. Narcissa had read them but not replied. She hadn't known what to say.

Hermione drew closer and carefully took the paintbrush from Narcissa. She set it down next to the paints on the table, next to the pile of Daily Prophets and the letter from Andromeda. She took Narcissa's hand and led her to the sofa.

“You've done a fine job of shutting yourself away, Narcissa, but don't shut me out too.”

“What story has the Ministry settled on?” asked Narcissa.

Hermione sighed. “You'd know if you read that detestable rag Rita Skeeter writes for. The owner of Autrey Island was a recluse in old age and was killed by Bellatrix. The Ministry tidied up his home and claimed that he lost it and caused all the mayhem on the island. They had to use a memory charm on Matilda Boggs, the woman the knight in the painting went to for help. The knight has been moved to a secure room in the Ministry.” She spoke as if a bad taste was in her mouth.

“How convenient for the Ministry,” commented Narcissa.

“I kept you out of the papers as much as I could, Narcissa. Since the Ministry only had to account for what happened after Bob's death, none of the other strange things that happened, like your slashed paintings, have come to light. It's my name that keeps getting tossed around. Rita has mentioned a few times that you were supposed to be on the island at the same time, but I said you weren't around on that last night. The mentions died up pretty quickly.”

“I,” started Narcissa. She swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Have you heard from Draco?”

Narcissa nodded. “He's working. In Spain. He offered to come home, but I told him not to.”

Hermione ran her fingers along Narcissa's wrist. “And what about us? I gave you all the time I could bear.”

Narcissa allowed Hermione to keep hold of her hand but shook her head. “I don't see how I could be good for you, Hermione. On the island, I was so naive and optimistic until Bellatrix showed up. Seeing how she reacted, it would be lunacy to continue on. More people wouldn't like it. More people might try to hurt you.”

“Then I'm sorry that I have to tell you this, but people already know.”

Narcissa drew her hand away. Her eyes widened. “What?”

“I didn't take an ad out in the paper, but I told those closest to me. I told Ron and Harry and everyone else that I was in love with you. Most of them aren't speaking to me now, but in time, I hope...”

“Hermione, that's exactly the kind of thing I was worried about.”

Hermione kept her gaze steady. “Andromeda thinks it could be good for us.”

Narcissa let out a shaky breath. “You spoke to my sister?”

“A few days after we got back, Andromeda came to see me. I was the person named the most in the papers. She could tell that something was off and she saw one of the few mentions that you were supposed to be there. She wanted to make sure that you were okay. I told her everything.”

Narcissa glanced at the open letter from Andromeda by the easel.

“Kingsley tried to talk me out of it, but after Ron's explosive reaction to my news, he accepted my resignation,” Hermione continued. “Yesterday was my last day at the Ministry. Next month, I start research with Professor McGonagall for a book I want to write. She's only doing it, I know, because she hopes that it will end with my accepting a position at Hogwarts. I was hoping that we could spend time together during this month.”

“You're as stubborn as I am,” said Narcissa. In her chest, she began to feel a seed of hope and tried to drown it.

“Yes,” said Hermione. “And prepared to do whatever it takes to convince you that this is a good thing between us.”

“Hermione.”

“You see her when you close your eyes, don't you? She's in your dreams.” Hermione glanced at the many paintings of Bellatrix in the room. “You think about her when you're awake.”

Narcissa nodded. It was useless to deny it. The proof was all around the room.

Hermione slid from the sofa to kneel in front of Narcissa. “Let me help you. We can help each other through it. You don't have to go through this alone.”

Narcissa felt the unfamiliar sensation of tears filling her eyes. Her shoulders sagged. She was damn tired, too tired to keep up her shields anymore. “And when someone comes knocking?” she asked weakly.

“Nothing a knife or a wand can't handle,” breathed out Hermione. She rose high enough to kiss Narcissa softly.

Narcissa closed her eyes, reveling in the kiss. She didn't see Bellatrix. She didn't see anything. She only felt.

\----------

Narcissa expected to wake up in darkness. During the middle of the night, with only the moon in the sky, her bedroom looked grim. The four poster bed looked too much like those trees on the island when she first opened her eyes. But the sun had risen and there was a fresh cup of coffee next to her on the nightstand.

Hermione slept peacefully next to her. The sheet had fallen down, pooling around her hips.

It had been a long night for them. It had been a week since Hermione burst into Narcissa's home and she had been intent on showing Narcissa her affection every single night. 

After making love, after they drifted off to sleep, Narcissa woke up every few hours due to her nightmares. Hermione dutifully attended to her, rubbing her sweat-slick hair out of her eyes and telling her that everything was okay.

That was their new normal.

Narcissa hadn't been back in the study since Hermione's arrival. They spent most of their afternoons in the library, where they both felt comfortable. Two days before, Hermione had informed her that the paintings she'd been obsessively working on had been disposed of. Surprising herself, Narcissa was happy at the news.

She smiled down at Hermione and raised a hand to run a finger down her shoulder. She thought better of it and let her hand fall. She didn't want to wake Hermione up. She needed her rest just as Narcissa did.

The coffee was prepared as Narcissa liked it. Satisfaction filled her as she drank it and felt all of the little sore muscles in her body from the night before.

The Daily Prophet lay on the table next to the coffee tray. Narcissa picked it up and flipped through it, scanning for any interesting information.

Rita Skeeter's column was about the effect trauma could have on your work life. Hermione's decision to leave the Ministry had finally become public knowledge and Rita was using it to her advantage. According to Rita, what Hermione saw on Autrey Island had unhinged her, forcing the Minister to personally fire her.

Narcissa nearly choked on her coffee. “Never change, Rita,” she whispered under her breath, casting a glance at Hermione to make sure she hadn't woken her up.

She set the Daily Prophet aside. If nothing else, the column might serve as an icebreaker between her and Andromeda when they met for tea later. The thought of coming face to face with her sister after so long and after so many things had happened made Narcissa swallow nervously. Hermione had convinced her it was a good idea. Only time would tell if Hermione was correct.

She'd been right about that Muggle poetry being good.

Narcissa set her now empty coffee cup back on the tray and noticed a letter. Frowning, she opened it. She recognized Lucius's handwriting immediately.

“It's a small world,” he'd written, “and news of your latest association has reached more than a few ears. Congratulations on your desperate attempt to sway public opinion. I didn't know you had it in you. I concede. You win, for now.”

Narcissa let the letter fall down onto the bedroom floor. What a sad man, she thought. She couldn't bring herself to feel angry. His misunderstanding of her relationship with Hermione was almost comical. She hadn't won, not in the way he thought. She absently massaged her shoulder. No, she hadn't won. She glanced at Hermione, who was finally stirring. She had, however, gained something very good for her.

“Good morning,” mumbled Hermione.

“Good morning, love,” said Narcissa. She tucked a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear and kissed her. She felt Hermione's arms wrap around her and pull her closer. She didn't resist. Nestling her face into Hermione's neck, she smiled. “I received a most interesting letter from my ex-husband this morning. I believe, reading between the lines of his correspondence, that he plans to tell the rest of the world that we're together.” She held her breath and waited.

Hermione laughed and hugged Narcissa closer to her. “Somehow, I expected that to happen at some point.” She ran her fingers along Narcissa's spine, causing Narcissa to shiver. “I'm ready if you are.”

Narcissa raised her head from Hermione's neck. “I'm more ready than I thought I'd be.”

Hermione smiled. With the sun shining on her face, she looked more beautiful than any human had a right to be. The line between her eyebrows, the one that only creased her face when she was thinking about something important, appeared. “And how did you sleep after that last nightmare?”

“Like everything was right with the world,” Narcissa answered honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything like this, but I wanted to try my hand at the 'stuck on an island with a killer on the loose' trope. I hope it was as entertaining for you as it was informative and fun for me.


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